


To Stand Among Ruins

by Windcage



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Each chapter works as an episode, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Focused on the relationships, POV Adrien Agreste, POV Gabriel Agreste, Plagg Loves Cheese, Romance, Sympathetic take on Gabriel - who is his own messed up self and grieving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 57,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windcage/pseuds/Windcage
Summary: To say the Agreste family lies in ruins is nothing short of an understatement, Gabriel's grief having anchored him so deep to the past and the wife he lost, he is unable to face the present and a son who needs him - who hasn't given up on him.Will they remember to walk in the same direction and not leave each other behind?





	1. Wailer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jojo1112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojo1112/gifts).



> _To and with a heartfelt thank you to Jojo1112,_  
>  May we sink deeper into the shipping!
> 
>  
> 
> _And for all of you out there, who will give this story a chance._

#### Adrien

The large iron gates were all the way across the street, tall and imposing just like the  _château_  behind them, the high walls and metal protections rising to almost cover the second floor making it look just like a fortress—or a prison.

For Adrien, dropping between two nearby buildings, his Miraculous giving out one last warning before his transformation collapsed, it had looked like a prison since, not that many months ago, his father had uprooted both of them and Nathalie from the outskirts of Paris and brought them back to the center of the city, back to a house he remembered from his childhood, from a time when his mother was still here and weeks of renovations hadn’t so imposed his father’s personality over every single corner of the building that its familiar façade didn’t hide an almost unrecognizable interior. All of it sharp and martial lines. Modern. Beautiful. And intimidating.

He hated it.

He didn’t remember hating anything more than he did this house. Even his mother’s presence, lurking at every corner, making him feel like she really was there only forever out of reach, was more painful than comforting. The day he had made a break for it, evading the ever vigilant Nathalie and his bodyguard to get to school, he had felt he was suffocating, dying inside this great mausoleum. Was it not for Plagg and he would probably still be feeling like that and maybe that was the reason the still dizzy kwami, peeking from over his shoulder into the lamp illuminated lane, looked so confused.

“What got into you?” he queried. “You ran away from Ladybug, didn’t even say goodbye—”

“I have to get home.”

“You never want to get home.”

Yes, and the day he did, Hawkmoth had to have time on his hands, his akumas had to be flying all over the city and not giving him or Ladybug a minute’s peace. This situation they had just solved? That had been the fourth attack today. And honestly it was bad enough one of the earlier ones had targeted his father—all but wrecking Adrien’s certainties he was far too proud to ever fall for whatever persuasive methods Hawkmoth employed—to also know that, today of all days, the very same day he had a family dinner  _scheduled_ , he was late.

“Okay… now!”

Plagg dived inside his shirt pocket, getting into cover just as the security camera on the nearest corner of the house wall turned, losing sight of the alley where they stood. Jumping out, managing to dive inside the subway station just in the nick of time, Adrien sighed with relief as he joined the people climbing up towards the street and got in full view of the camera now returning to its initial position.

“You are acting really weird!” Plagg sing-sang happily from the pocket, his voice making a couple of passer-bys glance behind.  _Please think it is the phone!_  “So, so weir—Oh!  _Goodies!_ ”

That… had sounded just like Plagg had found the emergency cheese he kept on his pocket. It also sounded like he was unpacking it.

“That is not for now, Plagg!”

“But Adrien!”

“Drop the cheese.”

“Just a nibble?”

There was no way any of these people near the pedestrian crossing could possibly think he was fighting with his phone, was there?

Giving an elderly woman an innocent smile, now battling Plagg through the fabric of his shirt, Adrien looked at the sign, the changing light seeing him sprint to the other side of the street, running all the way to the gate and hitting the doorbell.

That he knew exactly who was on the other side of the security optic without anyone having to say a word, spoke a lot of the house’s two other residents’ very different optic-wielding-abilities.

“Hi, Nathalie.”

The gate opened with a loud electric buzz and he was inside. Pressing himself between the two gates before they even finished opening. Sprinting across the well-illuminated courtyard. Jumping up the stairs to open the heavy oak door, get inside and—

“You are late.”

—skid right pass the dark-haired woman who had addressed him, his hands reaching out to grab hold of the stairs handrail least he went straight pass not only her but the stairs and managed to trip inside the service corridor on the back.

Getting back his balance, going to stand on the black and white entryway, patting, he finally managed to talk.

“I’m sorry. Some akumatized person was wrecking havoc at the  _Centre Pompidou_. There was traffic. I—”

Nathalie frowned, glancing at the window.

“I don’t see the car.”

“I jumped out of the back seat, came by subway.” It was only half a lie and he turned to run up the stairs with it, giving Nathalie a pleading expression halfway up. “Please, don’t tell Father.”

“Adrien…”

“ _Please,_ Nathalie. You don’t have to lie, just—Pretend you don’t know?”

He could see it in her expression. The way two sides of her were clashing. In the end, she sighed.

“He won’t hear it from me.”

“You’re the best! I am just going to leave something upstairs!”

“You can leave it—”

 _Here_ , became lost as he dashed for the top floor, two steps at a time, to burst inside his bedroom, let Plagg out of his pocket and dart back to where he had came.

“You have the room to yourself, don’t eat all the cheese, okay?” he threw back and in the general direction of the very confused black kwami flying over his bed.

“Where are you going?!”

The door hadn’t finished closing yet and he was already out, running down the stairs, leaving Nathalie behind, his chest twisting painfully as he watched her making her way to father’s atelier. Then, turning to stop in front of the dining room door.

This was it.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he knocked… and waited.

There was no answer. If anything, he didn’t feel brave enough to find out if Nathalie truly had entered the atelier, instead, he knocked again and opened the door, eyes firmly set on the floor, his heart pounding.

_Be brave._

If he found this room empty it would hardly be the first time. He had spent the last months dining alone almost every single day.

_Be brave._

He raised his eyes. The dining room was as he expected, clean, spotless and with the table set. All was as in every other night—except for the man waiting inside, leaning against the dinning room table, a pair of dull blue eyes dropping from the portrait over the fireplace to him.

“You are late.”

He wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling even if he wanted to.

“You waited.”

That had been ten minutes ago.

\---//---

Meals were usually livelier than this, even if, being completely honest here, not by much. Nathalie’s effort to keep him company, which meant she stood at the side of the table, calm and composed—and he suspected, keeping an eye on what he ate, on father’s orders—not really doing much for how lonely he was when she only ever talked if he addressed her, which he normally ended up doing… to inquire if his father was coming.

_He is here now._

And Adrien seemed to have been so anticipating this moment, he had all but forgotten what dining with him was  _actually_  like after the questions of “How is school?” and “How is work?” had received twin, brief answers of “Good.”

Silent.

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

It made him miss Plagg and his incessant talking—even if his grinding down of cheese tended to ruin his appetite. It made him miss his friends, the school cafeteria and Marinette either fishing some of her father’s cakes from her bag or running out of the table after having forgotten them in her locker— _again_. Above all it made him miss his mother, this room when there were still three of them, and he still knew what to say—when he could still  _think_  of something to say.

_Well, think of something now!_

“You didn’t tell me how you got the book back, Father.”

The clicking of cutlery ceased the same instant a groan of “ _Not that_ ” went through Adrien’s mind and he looked to the side, the closed expression he was faced with telling he had just plunged into very murky waters.

“The book?”

“Mother’s book,” Adrien clarified, the hurt immediately flashing through the blue eyes leaving him hanging there, unsure if he had been the cause of it, if he should continue, until he was forced to either drop the subject all together or push forward— “Did one of the teachers find it?” And was hit by a wave of hurt himself. “Did you go to school?”

His father had gone back to stare at the family portrait over the fireplace, his expression so distant Adrien was not expecting him to be listening, much less for him to put aside his pain to quench his own.

“No. It was delivered to me,” he said, returning to his food. “At the house.”

“One of the teachers came by?” There was something that made little to no sense in that and Adrien was scratching his head. “One of my colleagues?”

“It’s of no consequence.”

His chin might as well have hit the floor.

“Wait, was it one of my  _friends_? Who was it? Chloe?”

If ‘eye roll’ was anything to go by it surely had not been her, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t neck deep into this, so—

“Was it Sabrina?” he pressed on, suspicious. His next question being met with raised eyebrows. “You know, Chloe’s friend?”

“She calls her that?”

“She does.” A derisive snort left Adrien frowning. “You saw them once.”

“I saw them enough.”

And, seemingly, Adrien was not getting any more ‘eye rolls’ to help him with his answer. Not that he cared to know it. But them talking, he cared for that and they hadn’t talked—or at least, his father hadn’t been listening—since mother had disappeared.

“So, if not Chloe… How about Alya? She runs the Ladyblog.” And, of course, father didn’t know what that was. “She makes videos about Ladybug. She is a huge fan.”

“An increasingly common flaw,” his father stated, a slight edge on his voice. “I will try not to hold it against her.”

Ah… Was that a _joke?_  For a moment there it had sounded exactly like—

_He has no sense of humor, remember?_

Which lead to—

“Marinette?” He wanted to laugh for even entertaining the idea. If there was someone who would  _never_  take the book from him, it would be her. “She is—”

“The young lady with the ponytails. I remember her.”

“ _ **You do?!**_ I mean—” He cleaned his throat repeating in a less surprised tone. “You do?”

“Her hat is on my fashion show.”

 _Right._ The one with the feather. He shivered just to think how many days of non-stop sneezing he would have to endure for thirty seconds down a runway with it and how easy it would have been to avoid another run-in with that particular allergy. He just had to tell her. Why hadn’t he told her? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known from the beginning that his father would be attracted to her work like a magnet. In fact—

“It was a very good craftsmanship,” Adrien put forth, quietly, playfully, repeating something that had been on his father’s lips not that long ago—he snapped his head so fast in his direction there was no way he could unscrew his mischievous grin on time.

“If you are going to tell her I said that, Adrien, make a point to remind her it would be in her best interest to keep her projects under lock and key. It will spare her much trouble in the future.” He pressed his lips at his expression. “And try not to ruin your friend with praise.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You would be surprised,” he told him, darkly, only to glance to the side and point at his plate. “That is getting cold.”

 _What? Oh!_ The fish, right. He went over several of the roasted potatoes before talking again.

“So…” Adrien raised his fingers as he counted. “Chloe, Sabrina, Alya, Marinette, Nino…” His smile fell as did his spirits, the lifeless eyes going back to him. “Not Nino. You never liked Nino.”

“I don’t see any reason to like most people these days, Adrien. Don’t take it personally. More importantly, are you done going over all your classmates?” he seemed to read the ‘No.’ straight out of his face. “Will you start to go over the entire school next?” And the ‘Yes’ as well. “Exactly how many students does your school have?”

“Quite a lot.”

Too many judging by his father pressing the bridge of his nose and sighing.

“This person came while you were out, alone, to return the book personally. I admit I wasn’t even expecting to get it back, much less that it wasn’t just dumped in the mailbox— _It doesn’t matter._ This so called friend of yours made, at worse, a silly decision. It wasn’t meant maliciously. There is nothing more to it.”

There was no way he could keep a very Chat like smile from spreading all over his face.

“You are covering for one of my friends.”

“Adrien—”

The slightly aggravated tone was cut short by a grimace. Glasses being laid on the table, he went to press his temples.

“Are you alright, Father?”

“I—yes.” A penetrating sideways gaze was thrown his way. “Where were you this morning?”

It came back in a flash. All of it. The sound of crashing and breaking coming from inside the atelier. Nathalie blocking his way inside. His disbelief when finally seeing the almost entirety of it destroyed. And then, what the akuma had made of the familiar face at his side. A black and white fiend, standing in the stairs landing, just like father did, only grinning and gloating, a notebook dancing in one hand.

_“There is no more Gabriel Agreste.”_

There had been malice to that declaration, malice and a kind of deep, unburdening joy that had been much harder to hear.

_“There is only the Collector.”_

His fingers grasped at the jeans, eyes still on the blue ones.

“Do you remember anything?”

“I remember you were  _not_  in your room,” was his reply, blue eyes hardening.

He was not getting away from this. Not when his answer had not been what father had wanted to hear and he looked suspicious… or maybe that was just his guilt over getting inside his safe, the certainty in glimpsing its now empty interior that he had broken a trust that had been implicit between the two of them and that he was not sure he would ever be getting back.

“I—I heard the commotion downstairs and did what you told me—” Adrien ended up saying, eyes dropping to his lap. It felt wrong to lie about this. “I hid.”

There was a sigh. Risking a glance, Adrien was still in time to see his father raise his attention to the portrait.

“You are exactly like your mother,” he said, looking—almost smilling at her, even if still massaging his temples. “Acting like it is the end of the world when—”

The tirade came to a halt, fond exasperation fading into silence alongside the first of the choked words. He was pressing his eyes now, seemingly having forgotten his son’s presence until Adrien closed one hand over his shoulder and he was forced to return to his side.

“You did well.”

A knock made both of them jump, then turn to the opening door in time to see Nathalie step inside.

“My apologies.”

Letting go of his father’s shoulder, Adrien returned to his suddenly tasteless food. He knew Nathalie well enough to know that apology had been mostly meant for him.

“M. Agreste. The manager of Madame Selene is on the phone. About the—”

“Blue chiffon dress,” his father finished before Nathalie had a chance to. “I assume her client is in the middle of yet another temper tantrum,” he continued, ruthless, putting the glasses back on. “What is the problem now? The seams? The  _length_?”

“It is better if you take the call yourself.”

Sadness washed over Adrien’s expression, the chair at his side being dragged leaving him to watch his father as he walked to Nathalie, received the phone from her hand—

“A word of advice, Sir. Don’t put it close to your ear.”

—and went to stand by the window, Nathalie’s warning heeded.

“This is Gabriel Agreste.”

Adrien could hear it from  _here_. This—he didn’t even know what to call it—coming from the other side of the line, leaving him to look at the half finished meal on his father’s plate and then at Nathalie. Their eyes met for the tiniest of instants, still it was enough for her brow to furrow as she again took to follow his father’s back, watching him as he paced back and forth, speaking in that unwavering courteous tone he reserved for his clients.

“My creations don’t malfunction. If it hugs the figure much more, your client won’t be able to breathe,” he was saying, sighing and pressing the bridge of his nose. “The award ceremony is in full swing, I am no miracle worker—I  _know_ what my contracts state. Yes, I have read them, I believe I even wrote them.”

A gentle smile rose to Nathalie’s lips at those words, only to disappear under her distant, professional expression the instant his father’s present round of pacing lead him straight back to her, the still screeching phone in his hand forcing the two of them into a silent exchange of words that ended with her giving him a firm headshake. One that Adrien, suddenly at the edge of his seat, couldn’t help but notice.

Had she?

“It’s final.”

Had  _he?_

_Please…_

“Red,” The phone was returned to Nathalie. “She wants it red.”

“I have been informed.”

“She could have thought of that before—”

He stopped. Abruptly. A strange, pensive expression going over his face. It took a moment before he took a forceful breath and continued.

“There is some kind of tear in the fabric that is compromising the  _corsage_  functionality. I’m rather sure she put it there, even so I will not be making the headlines by having it falling apart in the middle of a gala.”

“Should I send someone from headquarters?”

“No. Get the driver, I—”

There was a moment, no more than a  _second_ , where Nathalie was caught completely unprepared. Yet, that heartbeat was enough for his father’s eyes to hawk over her unusually open expression and jump straight back to him.

“Adrien. Where is the driver?”

_Oh boy…_

“I’m sorry, Father! We were coming back from the photo shoot, got caught on the traffic and there was the dinner, I—”

There was _no way_ he would go further than that or that he could be more grateful to Nathalie when she spared him the need to.

“Is leaving the house  _necessary_?”

“Someone has to explain to Selene that I can make that dress red as much as a chef can undo a steak,” he stated, only to add in a lower voice: “Or she can make up her mind for more than two seconds.”

“Can’t that message be delivered through  _phone_?”

“I can hardly deprive her from the pleasure of being strangled by her dress.”

No… he couldn’t, could he?

“Adrien, after you finish your meal, you will go to your room. I expect you to stay there. No nighttime excursions through Paris. I have told you more than once of how dangerous that is.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And we will talk about this new propensity of yours to ditch both your ride and your bodyguard.” He returned to Nathalie. “Get the car, wait outside, I shall not be long.”

He was leaving. This was it. The dinner was over and in a stroke of desperation he was up, he wanted to say something, to run after him, to stop him—what he ended up doing, however, was nothing of the sort.

“Thank you for your time, Father.”

He hesitated. Adrien wanted to believe he did. Then he walked out, Nathalie in tow, the door clicking behind the two of them leaving Adrien behind in the silent dining room, the portrait of his parents as they stood, forever frozen in a better time, smiling down at him.

Sometimes—Most of the time, he felt he had lost them both.

#### Gabriel

“Father!”

The calling was still clear in his memory, what at some point had become his name being spoken in a child’s excited voice before the sound of struggling with the atelier door gave away to a smiling boy, stopping at the entrance, hesitating—

“Are you working?”

—and a woman, warm and radiant in white, bearing a smile that was nothing short of mischievous.

“Are you wearing your mean face?”

He probably had been. Thirty seconds earlier. He doubted he was now that she was making her way inside, encouraging their son to run to him—down the stairs, like he was the one the furniture had to fear—and kneeling behind both of them, peeking from over their shoulders as Adrien went to sit on his lap, scanning the drawing Gabriel had just set aside, before presenting him with one of his own… of what clearly were meant to be the three of them.

“Do you like it?”

“I—” Had he ever given the impression that he didn’t? “Yes.”

That seemed to embolden Adrien enough, he was beaming, pointing at the first person on the row.

“This is mother.”

“A remarkable resemblance.”

That gained him a friendly smack on the back of the head.

“That was sincere.”´

As was him straining his mind to figure out what family gathering the drawing intended to show.

“Was this last weekend?”

There was a moment of silence where Adrien giggled, excited enough to jump on his leg, and Emilie stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, dropping her head in defeat.

“How did you know?”

“Your dress.”

“How can you remember what I wore last weekend?” she sighed, incredulous, getting to her feet and going around the table. “I can’t recall what I had on yesterday. Don’t you two start!”

Gabriel smiled, laying his head on the top of his son’s, pointing his attention back to the drawing.

“And the other two?”

“This is me. And this is you.”

He looked back at that and then to the drawing, giving it what was clearly a critical look, expression falling. From his vantage point, Gabriel couldn’t see what the problem could possibly be.

“It looks like me.”

“Give it here.”

The paper slid all the way across the table to where Emilie stood, ready to catch it and nod at it.

“Oh, I see the trouble.”

Adrien’s face fell further.

“You do?”

“But, I—” she announced in dramatic fashion and to the delight of the child present. “Can also fix it.”

“Emilie… What are you doing?”

“You have to match the drawing, dear.”

In what  _way_ did that mean she had to drop her shoes?

“Adrien, grab him!”

He did. Tossing his arms around his neck only to break down laughing at his mother coming not around the table but sliding over it, not giving any of them time to get out of the way before she was on them, sinking her fingers into their hairs and ruffling around until somehow Adrien managed to slip from her grasp and make it for the door.

“Where are you going? I am not finished!”

She was up, preparing to hunt down her slippery progeny down the house, only to stop and turn to him at the last moment.

“Gabriel—You are not locking yourself in here the entire day, are you?” she queried, a harsher note in her voice, green eyes meeting blue. “We do miss you. He misses you.”

“Does he?”

“Why  _always_ the disbelief?” She stretched a hand to him. “Will you come?”

A muffled giggle made both of them turn their attention towards the door.

“I saw you there,  _peek-a-boo_!”

Emilie looked back at him, hand still outstretched, still waiting… and then was off, walking passed the door where she disappeared—where they both did. Alongside everything else. There was nothing left of that day, of them, except for the drawing.

And why had he even brought  _this_ with him? He didn’t remember putting it anywhere near the sewing machine, much less the bag. Breaking it, yes. Alongside every single thing that had been inside his atelier—everything he had been sure would be fixed the moment the Bug lucky-charmed all woes away… but that wasn’t to be. The frame was still very much broken. The glass had fallen apart. A tear ripped the paper right where their hands connected, cutting him from the pair at his side.

The part of him that hadn’t been mindlessly trying to fix that ever since the frame had followed the sewing machine out of the bag, couldn’t restrain from a derisive snort.

_Fitting._

It was  _fitting_. A reminder of everything that had gone wrong and kept going wrong. Of all he was taking far too much time to fix!

His fist slammed against the rickety table he was working at, sending the box at his side crashing to the dust covered floor, the carefully organized thread reels that had been inside rolling away in every direction as he buried his face in one hand and a mauve kwami descended from the spider web infested rafters, stopping over his shoulder to gaze at Adrien’s drawing and then at him. Then, and only then, did he land on the black and gold sewing machine, quiet words doing little more than darken Gabriel’s mood further.

“How old is he?”

Gabriel reached out for the drawing, slamming it face down on the table, the sheer amount of anger on the gesture making Nooroo lower his eyes.

“I understand how important this is, Master—”

“I don’t require your  _understanding_ of anything.”

“—but this will be the fifth attempt today,” he pushed forth, quietly, respectfully—fearfully, the note of something akin to worry on his voice making Gabriel’s anger boil. “This is not safe. If—If you keep overstraining your powers the akumas will become unstable, they will turn on you—”

“And wouldn’t you love that, Nooroo?”

The kwami raised his eyes. For a moment, scared as he was, he held his gaze.

“No,” he said, voice tremulous. “You are my holder. I have a duty to protect you.”

This— _This was laughable_.

“Truly? And what part of that duty gave you permission to start questioning me?”

“I—I wasn’t—”

A sharp knock made the kwami dive behind the sewing machine, peeking from under its adorned arm as the door opened, his lack of alarm telling enough as to who had made its way inside.

“Close the door.”

He needed not have spoken. It clicked back in place, the sound of something being dragged making him glance over his shoulder to find Nathalie blocking the door with a chair, then looking around at the butterflies and the broken furniture inside the storeroom, looking none too sure.

“Couldn’t this be done—?”

“I won’t risk a new attack on the house while Adrien is there,” Gabriel replied, curtly, fingers pulling on the hand wheel, making it spin. “This should be safe enough.”

“Not if I remember this morning correctly.”

The clicking of low heels joined the sound of the sewing machine, the pricking of the needle as it reinforced the hand-sewed tear leaving Nooroo gazing at the process in such wide-eyed fascination he had to be swapped under the table when Nathalie appeared at Gabriel’s side. Still she looked around. A nervous twitch he hadn’t seen her fall back to since that utter failure with Simon Says had allowed a mob to reenact the Storming of the Bastille on the house, making her tug the fingers on her right hand.

For all his present frustration, he would be lying if he said this, on top of Adrien’s concerned glances, didn’t worry him.

“What did I do?”

“I can hardly know,” she said, leaning to pick the box and thread reels lying near his feet. “I was in front of the first door you kicked down.”

“My apologies.”

Blue eyes glanced up.

“You could have told me.”

“I needed to make it convincing.”

“It was convincing.” The sharp edge to her words was something she clearly hadn’t wished to be there for it was gone when she continued. “What if you had succeeded in that form?”

“The Collector would have known to use those two Miraculous to turn back.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “He should have enough left of me for that.”

Getting back to her feet, the hand with which she had been holding one of the blue thread reels against the flickering ceiling light dropping to her side, Nathalie pressed the box to her chest, the rhythmic sound of the sewing machine filling the space, before she talked again.

“Did he see you?” she queried. “Adrien.”

“He says he hid.”

“You don’t believe him?”

The piercing question made the vein of betrayal, the very same one he had used to create the Collector, pulse inside him. Fingers stopping the hand wheel, a dark note going back to his voice, he got up.

“ _Yesterday,_  I would have.”

The dress was set on a hook by the door, flowing down to the ground like it was made of water. Watching Nathalie as she frowned at it, her eyes flying over the stitched tear and then focusing on one of the white butterflies as it came to rest on her sleeve, he turned his back on all three of them, satisfied. It was not obvious, then. All the better. He had not come here for this.

“Nooroo.”

The white butterflies closed around him, answering his calling before he even finished speaking, before the always reluctant kwami remembered to fly from behind the sewing machine and they blasted off, spreading out, taking flight amidst the broken and dusty furniture around him.

A grin going over his face as the butterfly inside the cane’s top spread its black wings, Gabriel raised it to the light, watching it phase out of the small dome and fly towards the window, towards the dark alley outside and down the fire escape, then back inside the theatre—

It should not get lost this one. Not with the feast he could sense a few floors below. Not if Nathalie’s phone ring giving way to a loud— _what was the word?_ —the instant she took the call was anything to go by.

This should be enough. Selene should make for a capable enough weapon. There was no reason this should fail.

His attention fell on the table, the drawing still lying face down calling him to it and the two vibrant crayon figures standing to his side—the cane sank to the floor with such strength that the slab underneath cracked.

“What would you call that, Nathalie?” he queried, the bite to his tone seemingly having gone unnoticed for Nathalie’s serious expression turned pensive.

“Madame Selene’s demands?” She looked at the phone, competent as ever. “Wailing?”

An unpleasant smile spread over his face. And the instant the now familiar electricity bolt went through his head, the emotional turmoil on the other side of the phone blasting into his mind without mercy, he had his name.

“Wailer.”

Nathalie almost dropped the now ominously silent phone, glancing his way before opening a path through the butterflies to take cover on the opposite end of the room, fingers so firmly pressed over her ears, he doubted she could hear any of the rest.

“My name is Hawkmoth. I can grant you the power to bind everyone to your whims. I ask you only for a favor in return: Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous. Bring them to me and no one will be able to tell you no ever again.”

 

#### Adrien

His head was ringing from all the shrieking, the so-called Wailer’s continuous demands still echoing inside his mind making Adrien pull at his left earlobe as he tight-roped across the building’s parapet, unconcerned over the long drop under him or the ominous beeping coming from the ring, eyes set firmly on the previously mind-controlled crowd and press reentering the theatre below, searching for a speck of pale blond hair, a white suit, a known face…

_Where are you Father?_

“Keeping an eye out for someone?”

A voice— _her_  voice—returned him to the roof where he was standing. Smilling, making one of the ends of the staff touch the tiles and enlarging it so that he could flip over and land a kiss on the hand of the girl standing at its very top, Adrien looked up at her, the expression of fond exasperation Ladybug gave him only making his teasing grin grow.

“I only have eyes for you, Milady.”

“You are impossible.”

“You wouldn’t want me without all this irresistible charm.”

That might not work for anything else but it did just well in making her laugh—and he would take that, as small a victory as it was, more so when remembering the unconquerable battle he was fighting—and, he feared, losing—at home.

“Found who you were looking for, kitty?” Ladybug queried, pointing at the crowd, his concern seemingly becoming obvious enough for her to aim an extremely clumsy punch at his arm. It reminded him of someone this, even if could not put his finger on whom. Whoever it was, however, raised a smile to his face about as much as she did. “Come on. We defeated Wailer. Stopped Hawkmoth. Everyone is fine.”

Both Miraculous gave out a new ominous beep and she ran to the edge of the roof, preparing to disappear into the night.

“And we should both get going before— ** _Chat!_** ”

He still had time to turn. To glimpse the tall figure standing behind him, before a cane came crashing down on him and he lost his footing, slipping on the moss covered tiles, falling and rolling down the roof, ending up hanging by one hand on the edge.

“Up! Get back up!”

She was over him. Kneeling, stretching a hand to grab his as he swung to get to her and then pulling him back to the rooftop, the urgency in her gesture barely allowing him to understand what was happening before she got hold of him and tossed the yo-yo to the other side of the street, pulling them both off the roof, sending them flying over the busy street and away from—

“Is that  _him_?” Adrien asked, looking back over his shoulder, flabbergasted, truly not needing Ladybug to answer when an illustration on an ancient book flashed into his mind and did it for her. “What is he doing out in the open?!”

“Ten to one the same thing he always does!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant— ** _Ladybug!”_**

The cable snapped, whatever it was that had been sent flying their way sending them crashing into the traffic below, the sound of breaks squealing and metal breaking echoing around them as they hit the floor, getting up amidst a mass of crashing cars—

“Is anyone—?!”

He grabbed Ladybug’s hand, pulling her behind him before she had a chance to disappear from his side. The figure dropping from the top of the building where they had been standing mere seconds ago, landing on the sidewalk between a mass of rapidly fleeing passer-bys, making Adrien extend his staff, just as the man marched to his fallen weapon, put a foot under it and kicked it back to his hand.

Hawkmoth. This was him alright. Even if those dark purple garments he had first glimpsed on father’s book seemed to have changed about as much as whoever it was that hid underneath. There was nothing of the bearded, muscular, stern looking man the book showed on the approaching—and _grinning_ —Hawkmoth. Also,  _that_  wasn’t a cane he was carrying. It never had been, judging by the empty sheath the man already had on his left hand. That was a rapier and _why_ —

“Why does _he_ get a rapier?” Adrien queried, slightly annoyed and glancing back. Not that Ladybug would know the answer. “I could handle a rapier.”

“Is  _that_  what you are worried about?”

Both Miraculous beeped, another part of the paw on the ring going dark calling his attention to the insanely huge crowd that was gathering on both sides of the street or getting out of the bumped cars, to the mass of phones raised to capture what was happening, to Hawkmoth as he approached, and back to Ladybug’s blueberry eyes.

“Maybe at another place, Milady?”

He lodged the staff on the ground, propelling them up, away from the crowded street and the cars, back towards the roofs. It won them no more than a pair of seconds. Their frantic run on the roofs, trying to get away from the cameras and the older miraculous holder before the countdown hit zero, ending with a small white butterfly flying in front of them—and its master casually strolling from behind the chimneys, a grin distorting what little of his face could be seen.

“How—?!”

They hit the floor, the sword cutting the air high over them as they tumbled down opposite sides of the roof. Getting hold of himself halfway down, Adrien sent the staff bursting towards Hawkmoth, seeing him dance away from the blow and then try to raise the rapier to block a tile being tossed at his head from the place Ladybug had disappeared to.

It wasn’t perfect but nearly so.

For all it mattered, it gave them much needed time to escape when Hawkmoth’s unbalance to avoid the staff made him unable to keep his footing to defend himself from the tile. He slipped. Hitting the roof. Starting to go down it, only to grab the nearest chimney and pull himself back to his feet.

Looking over his shoulder, Adrien ended up clenching his teeth. He knew that expression. The one Hawkmoth had just given them as he got back to pursuing them. The mistake he had just made? He wouldn’t be making it twice.

“We have to think of something!” he shouted at Ladybug, as they both fled the scene. “We won’t be losing him! He is going to find out who we are!”

 _I’m going to find out who you are_ , the tiny, hopeful voice that was always on the back of Adrien’s mind chirped in—for once to be cast aside. This  _really_  wasn’t the time!

“What do we do?”

“You are not going to like it.”

“You are the brains, Milady.”

It seemed to throw a wrench into her thoughts that, the steely expression in her eyes softening.

“You also come up with good plans.”

“Well—” Adrien shrugged, squeezing the space between his thumb and index fingers until there was barely any air between them. “A tiny amount.”

She was going to fight him on this. Cute. But not really helpful given the sheath very nearly missing her feet, forcing her to flip over a chimney, turn and pull him so both could take cover behind it.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“One of us has to de-transform and come back.”

 _Oh good._  Who might have guessed, he really didn’t like it.

“You go first.”

“I have more time than you.”

“You are  _unarmed._ ”

“I can hold him. Go!”

He didn’t like this. He didn’t have to like this! And yet, the beeping coming from the ring was getting more and more urgent. He had seconds. And clenching his teeth, Hawkmoth’s shadow being drawn against the tiles by the pale moonlight, he propelled himself the farthest he could from the roof, a strained—

“Be careful.”

—left in his wake.

It was in the nick of time. The second he hit the floor he was back to himself, pressing his back against the alley’s wall, an exhausted looking Plagg hanging from his shoulder, attention overhead, on the clash between Ladybug and Hawkmoth and what “I can hold him” had truly meant. She was dodging. She seemed able to do little else but dodge!

“This is bad. This is so so bad,” Plagg muttered, as she jumped and pirouetted between two chimneys. “You have the cheese?”

Rummaging through his pockets, a moment of panic rushing through his mind when he failed to find anything at first, Adrien ended up pulling a carefully draped napkin from his shirt pocket and extended it to a now very disappointed kwami.

“So little.”

It would be way more if Plagg's appetite for cheese wasn't taking ever growing and concerning proportions, but this truly wasn't the time to argue about  _that_.

“I will give you all the cheese in the world if you get us out of this, Plagg.”

Apparently it was the time to make it worse!

“Starting with the stinky ones.”

If ever any piece of camembert had been swallowed so fast—In a moment, he was jumping back up, getting back in the fray just in time for Ladybug’s Miraculous to give one last ominous warning and for her to drop from the roof, disappearing into the streets below, her transformation already fading off.

Moving to follow her, only to find his path blocked by Adrien, Hawkmoth twirled his sword, tossed it and making it sink into the brickwork covering the chimney a meter or so to Adrien’s left. Casually leaning against it, he couldn’t hold back the jest.

“Miss me?”

Judging by the way Hawkmoth’s lips twisted, he hadn’t, and he was still going for Ladybug, clearly aiming to follow her, barely glancing at him.

 _He is not here for the miraculous,_ he suddenly understood. Or at least, he wasn’t here just for them. This was about their identities.

_You are **so**  not following me home._

The Collector had been  _enough_ and that had been father. He was not putting him and Nathalie in danger again and no way was he allowing Hawkmoth to follow Ladybug down.

His hands closed firmly around the staff.

_You are staying right—_

_Wait…_  Was he not forgetting something? Oh, right… The rapier!

If only the thing would come out of the wall! But no! He was diving and rolling out of harm’s way the next instant, seeing Hawkmoth rip the sword out of the brickwork like it was nothing to write home about and moving to engage.

If there was one thing those mixed-style events his fencing school took part on had taught him was that he should have this fight controlled. He had been on a match very similar to this one, only on the  _other_   _side_  and been taught that quite clearly. He should be at an advantage with the staff. He  _should_ , but Hawkmoth or his kwami or both clearly knew what they were doing. There was no defensive card being played here. They were on the attack about as much as him and Plagg were and always,  _always_  out of reach.

_He is good._

Kind of rusty if some of those attack-parry transitions were anything to go by… it kind of felt like he hadn’t touched a sword or practiced in years—

_So this is Hawkmoth, not the kwami._

—but at one point he must have been a force to be reckoned with.

 _And the last thing I need is for him to get back in peak form,_ Adrien groaned internally.

Even if, being completely honest here, having to keep himself firmly rooted on spot, back towards where Ladybug had disappeared towards, was not working much—or anything at all—in his favor. Had he taken this long to return? Was she alright? Was her kwami—?

_Focus!_

He reminded himself of that a little too late. His next strike came too high, too predictable—and Hawkmoth had slithered inside his defenses the same instant, sheath raised—

**_CRACK!_ **

That was—

He tried to run. They both tried to run. The wood groaning and snapping under them seeing them trying to flee the site only for the roof to collapse under them, taking them down not one, not two but three floors before they managed to jump for safety and it crashed all the way to the basement.

_That was close!_

Also _close_ was Hawkmoth as he rose over the broken tiles to his left, rapier and sheath seeming to have followed the roof all the way down. And Adrien was not staying here to see him getting them back. He was out and back to the—a hand closed over his ankle just as he jumped, slamming him back into the very dingy, very rundown, completely derelict appartment both him and Hawkmoth had fallen into.

_Well, great!_

This would not be written down as one of Chat Noir’s greatest moments! No instant in which he was on the ground, forced to retreat from an enemy, his staff now on the other side of the room, had ended on anything—!

There was a creak above. Like someone had landed on top of the building. Attention snapping away from Adrien, Hawkmoth retreated, fleeing through the broken floor, disappearing just as a red bolt landed inside.

“Where is he?”

Adrien was on his feet, running to pick up the staff, grabbing Ladybug by the hand and pulling them inside the nearest thing that looked remotely like a different room.

“You made him flee, but he is coming back!”

The door slammed behind them, both of them pulling an empty bookshelf in front of it, blocking it and then sprinting in the opposite direction. If there was one thing he would be eternally grateful for was not being on this hero-thing alone.

“Are you alright?” Ladybug threw at him, looking around, attention going over the long, door filled corridor with its sealed windows and whinning floor and for some reason giving all of that a pleased smile. “This should do.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I am always better for your presence,  _peek-a-boo_.”

“Not really the time, _Chat_.”

“Agree to disagree.” He glanced at what she had over her shoulder, the sheer randomness of it telling him that had come right out of her Lucky Charm. “Is that a butterfly trap?”

This truly wasn’t the time for jokes, but—

“I don’t think he fits inside.”

There was this long suffering glance from Ladybug and she was back on her game, making them turn a corner and pointing at the stair now on their sight.

“Use the staff. We have to put this on that hole on the roof.”

“At your command, Milady,” he said, lodging one of the ends on the wall and holding her by the waist as they started to go up. If only he had known about this before—

**_SNAP!_ **

The staff wobbled under them, sending them smashing into the stairs and then rolling down them, the pair of purple shoes appearing at their side making Adrien jump to get Ladybug out of the way just as clarity flashed through Hawkmoth’s eyes on sight of the net and he stroke at it, cutting it in half.

“He understood what it was for?!” Adrien snapped, Ladybug pulling at his hand forcing him back to his feet. _Why am I the only one who never does?!_

They were fleeing again. Running through the derelict corridors. Ladybug muttering something that sounded a lot like “intelligent but cold” as she kept tabs behind them, making the same wave of defensive anger he had felt in the morning rise to champion the person that accusation had been previously aimed at.

“You still think that is Gabriel Agreste?!”

“No!” She sounded aggravated, which meant he wasn’t the only one feeling defensive right now. “You know it made sense! He fits!”

“You think he fits with  _that?_ ”

“He has the brains for it!”

“That doesn’t mean he would do this!”

“Look, I already said I was wrong!” She gave him a confused glance. “Why are you still angry?”

“I’m not angry.” He was  _not_. “I just—”

 _Know him,_  became lost in the sound of the door they had just closed being kicked down. It wasn’t the right thing to say come to think of it. He didn’t  _know_  him. He didn’t think he had known his father before mother disappeared and certainly didn’t after he cut himself from him for months, but–

_I used to run to him when I was scared._

Nightmares, thunderstorms… All things embarrassing beyond belief to remember and yet, despite  _everything,_  it didn’t change a thing.

_He is still Father._

This Hawkmoth—Adrien was moving in front of Ladybug as he watched him entering the room—didn’t feel like it was him at all.

“What do we do?” he asked over his shoulder, the heavier end of the yo-yo, swirling in a carefully controlled circle at her side, making him hold steadier to the staff. If anything her weapon made for an even worse defense than the staff in such a small and confined space. “We can’t run away. We can’t risk him tracking us home.”

“Keep him occupied, I will think of something.”

The window shattered behind her, her jumping outside leaving Hawkmoth and him alone, facing each other. Or, at least, he was facing Hawkmoth. The man himself had kept his attention on Ladybug, the intense blue eyes following her as she dissappeared and then flying over Adrien, cold and uninterested, like he wasn’t even there. Then, he was turning his back on him. Sheating the rappier. Putting the cane over his shoulders. Marching for the door.

Adrien had to sigh– _This again._ Then twirled the staff, sending it rushing forth, making it slam against the door, an easy gesture closing it shut.

“How about no?”

Gloved fingers tapped on the top of the cane, then sent it crashing to the floor as Hawkmoth turned, grinning in such a malicious way Adrien actually felt a shiver going down his spine.

He wouldn’t know who took the first step into what followed, only that they were weapons locked and back on the stairs when he managed to somehow break into Hawkmoth’s defenses and saw him twist the cane over his head to stop the blow, the familiarity of the gesture, the hours he had spent doing it or watching others do it, leaving him staring for a moment.

_Wait—_

“You know fencing?”

He ran up the stairs before the cane could be used against him, enlarging the staff so that it hit the walls on both sides of the corridor he was now at and jumping to stand on it, the stab coming at him and forcing him to back flip to the floor, cleaning his mind of all doubts.

“You  _know_ fencing.”

And he was  _not_  excited about this.  _Not at all._  He really  _really_  wasn’t _—_ Okay, so maybe he was just a little bit. But only because that meant he had a foot to stand on here. He knew what to expect. Even if he was losing terrain like crazy, mostly fleeing up a new flight of stairs and really not seeing a way to stop Hawkmoth from getting to the upper floor any time _—_

_Soon?_

One of the gloved hands had just closed over the handrail, the way it seemed to be holding the entire of Hawkmoth’s weight making something harsher take over Adrien’s mind. He looked tired. Judging by his breathing he  _was_  tiring. That was  _strange,_  but sent him flying at him anyway. The next moment they were falling down the stairs, rolling, fighting, both trying to reach the cane Hawkmoth had dropped and _—_

_Oh boy… Time to run!_

He wouldn’t have to. The very same moment, a speck of red came flying from up above, crashing into Hawkmoth’s wrist. The cane he had just picked was sent flying from his hand, falling to the ground, spinning.

“Perfect timing, Milady!”

He was back into the fight the same moment, being intercepted by the man’s left arm and sent to the floor just like he knew he would _—_ a grin covering his face as he set his eyes on Hawkmoth’s now unprotected Butterfly Miraculous.

This was it. Their chance. They could put an end to this now. Ladybug just had to—

_Ladybug?_

She hadn’t moved _—_ or she had only too late and just in time to come to his aid. The yo-yo cable wrapped around his ankle, pulling him away from Hawkmoth as he reached back for his cane and kicked it back up, grabbing it with his left hand.

The moment had passed. Hawkmoth might not be winning this, but neither would they and, rolling and sinking his fingers into the whining wood, Adrien didn’t like the smile Hawkmoth had plastered on his face when Ladybug finally moved to join the fight. He didn’t like that smile at all!

“Don’t!”

She reacted in the nick of time, tossing the yo-yo backwards, outside, her rapid flight meaning she all but destroyed the net she had tried to cover the broken roof with before landing on top of one of the chimneys. Putting some safe distance between him and their enemy, Adrien remained on the lower floor. Hawkmoth standing in front of him, right arm immobile at his side, blue eyes for the first time actually looking at him, studying him, pondering.

“Time is up, Hawkmoth,” Ladybug announced from over them, making the man look up at her. “Give back the Miraculous you stole!”

There was this shadow of surprise on the silver covered face, then mirth, then  _laughter_ , cold and loud and exploding on the small attic, a first speck of white flying passed his shoulder leading Adrien to look behind, towards one of the wood-sealed windows on the floor.

_What?_

“Stole?” Hawkmoth repeated and his laughter turned louder still, the white specks flying to him, hitting the dark purple suit, beginning to cover it as if in light.

“Ah, Ladybug?”

There was  _no way_ she wasn’t seeing  _this_. There were more. Dozens more. Hundreds— _thousands!—_ of white specks moving at a quick pace, entering through the windows, through the roof, hitting the walls and the ceiling, making Adrien dive to the floor, a strike of fear making him lie over the ring as whatever this was filled the house, blinding him, the laughter the only thing that could be heard over the sound of flapping—before silence set in.

The swirling, blinding mass around him was breaking apart. Departing from where it had come. Serenity took over the derelict house as he returned to his feet, looking over the empty room, finally seeing the white specks for what they were.

“Butterflies?”

But more importantly—

He looked up in a sudden panic, to where Ladybug had been, to where _—_ to his relief _—_ she still was with hands set protectively over her ears, eyes opening to look at what was around her.

It would come to him later, this.

Her rising among the white butterflies. The way they had covered her hair and clothes. For a moment, she didn’t seem real, more like something out of a dream. It was beautiful and a part of him would come to regret how quickly his concern had made him break the spell.

“Are you alright?” he asked, jumping up, one hand closing over her shoulder, concerned eyes on hers. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

She blinked, the butterfly she had been staring at taking flight from her fingers, joining the hundreds of its companions as they flew away, breaking apart, disappearing into the night sky, leaving them alone in the rooftops, the awe with which Ladybug had been staring at them turning into something akin to anger. One that was entirely directed at herself.

“He has to be somewhere,” she told him, aiming the yo-yo to the other side of the street and jumping off the roof before he had time to stop her. “Split up!”

 

#### Gabriel

Beige shoes hit the theatre roof a short distance away, the light enveloping the tall figure still allowing for a glimpse of a dark purple suit before it washed over altogether and the man underneath turned for a short while, gazing at the rooftops and the two figures in the distance, the distressed expression of the small butterfly-shapped kwami at his side a sharp contrast to the blue eyes intense gleam—and their darkness once that light died out.

 “Move.”

The fire escape whined as Gabriel started to go down it, a blade of light appearing on the alley under his feet, the voices rising from the now open door, making him press his back against the wall as he looked down through the laced metal, holding his right wrist.

The pain was bearable. A distraction if nothing else—or so he had hoped. At least, until Nooroo came zooming after him. Until the damn thing took upon itself to open its mouth.

“Master, I beg you to listen to me,” Nooroo whispered, the door closing under them sparing him an irate glare as he moved to follow Gabriel. “Kwamis were created as a whole; we are not supposed to fight each other! You can’t—You can’t keep going down this path!”

If the thing was wise it would shut up and leave it at that, instead—

“Miraculous are meant to be used for good!”

“And what might that be?” Gabriel snapped, attention on the carefully closed window in the platform below. “Should I help old ladies cross the street? Keep an eye out for the fire brigade? Or has that vacancy already been acquired by that Owl-person?” His lips twisted with disdain. One would think there were limits to how ridiculous some people could get—but no. “What is this higher purpose kwamis aspire to?”

“To protect people.”

Gabriel came to a stop, the ghost of a smile, of a touch, of his name being whispered by his ear making him grasp the metal handrail.

“Such pretty lies, Nooroo.”

“Lies? I—I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t, would you? But continue. I will indulge you just this once. What is this that you intend to help me protect?”

There was a hesitation, something of dread as Nooroo found himself caught in his gaze, and then hope, a sudden inspiration.

“Your son.”

“Then you failed me already.”

There was a disturbance. The sound of whining wood and shutters being opened giving Nooroo a chance to dive for cover inside his jacket just as a voice, a woman’s voice, put an end to words he regretted already.

“Sir.”

Nathalie. And he was back where he had started, inside the dusty storeroom, attention going over the blue dress hanging from the hook in the corner of the room, the already packed sewing machine, the broken furniture—his assistant now holding her phone to him.

“Would you prefer to call or should I?”

“Call?”

“Adrien,” she clarified. “He is bound to have seen the news.”

“It’s passed midnight. He is asleep.”

“He is fifteen.”

“Fifteen and with classes in the morning,” he retorted, stepping away from her while taking the carefully folded silk scarf from one of the jacket's pockets. It was red and the only trace of color he had allowed himself on his otherwise very discreet and utterly boring beige suit. “I expect some discernment on his part considering how he insisted in going to this school—”

A sting of pain turned the last word into a hiss, the scarf falling from his hand and drifting to the floor making Nathalie step forth, taking his hand in hers, fingers moving carefully over his hand, then the wrist. The same instant, she grimaced.

“It feels broken.”

“It will be fine in the morning.”

The thing hiding inside his jacket was at least good for  _that—_ even if so called ‘magical solutions’ were not, it seemed, good enough for Nathalie.

“It’s your drawing hand.”

“I know  _that_.”

“Adrien will worry.”

“Adrien doesn’t need to know.”

“He will  _notice_.”

“So will the press. Five minutes into a hospital, and I would have the house surrounded by—”

A movement outside, some kind of dot bolting over the roofs to land on top of the theatre, made anger flash through his eyes.

“ _Them!_ ”

And he had risked too much, sacrificed too much to blow everything up over something as unimportant as—Nathalie squeezed his hand, a metallic groan making her step closer and lower her voice.

“Did they see you come here?” she asked, attention on the closed shutters.

“That’s extremely unlikely.”

And yet, there was indeed someone coming down the fire escape. The groaning metal told as much. He dropped to pick the silk scarf the same instant Nathalie did, both rising back up, the stabbing pain forcing him to let it flow through his fingers and watch as Nathalie folded it, a stain of red— _the bug_ —appearing just outside, making her brows furrow.

“Adrien told me about this afternoon,” she announced in a perfectly clear voice, putting the scarf around his neck, covering the miraculous, both glancing at the closed shutters. Ladybug seemed to have stopped short of opening them. “About your deal. Concerning school.”

Why of all the topics, did she pick—There was an edge to his voice when he answered.

“The one you talked me into.”

“The one I talked you into, yes,” she acquiesced, staidly. Eyes rising to meet his. “You took school out of the conditions?”

“School was what that deal was about,” he retorted, trying to keep his irritation in check. “I might as well have tore the thing up.”

“You aren’t happy with it.”

“I’m not the one meant to be happy.”

Nathalie stopped, staring at the scarf, before nudging his chin up in order to tie it.

“He was happy,” she said in a tone as gentle as her touch. “Why now?”

“It is good for him to be out of the house. To have friends. Or so you keep telling me.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a sideways glance to the window and its closed shutters showed the bug was still there, albeit standing to the side, back against the wall—little more than eavesdropping at this point.

“Also,” Gabriel hissed, taking over Nathalie to tuck the scarf inside the waistcoat, all the anger and frustration and anguish at his latest failure, all of the things Nooroo had been unwise enough to disturb, that the bug standing outside did little but drive home, starting to build up, to seep through, to turn into outright fury. “I’m not so  _blind_  I can’t see the damage this is causing. I cannot trust myself not to take him out of that school for every single misbehavior. So it’s  _over_. It is bad enough that a  _fifteen-year-old_  girl had to come around this time and remind me I am being unfair, to end up doing this again.”

Nathalie’s expression visibly softened.

“You liked her.”

There was this loud crash outside, like the bug had just slipped down the stairs, the spiteful smile immediately taking over Gabriel’s expression making Nathalie shake her head and signal outside.

“Should we help her?”

“That would be ironic.”

The phone rang, cutting short whatever else Nathalie might have rebutted the nasty remark with. Approaching a broken mirror set to the side, the grimace on her expression still clear to him before she walked out of sight, Gabriel was all but growling—

_This. Day!_

“What did she want?” he snapped, going over the scarf, the silence behind him telling him Nathalie had disconnected the call. “Has she changed her mind  _again_?”

“Madame Selene seems to have just stopped retelling her story to the press.”

“How delightful,” Gabriel growled. “She will be unmanageable.”

He stepped away from the mirror and towards the table, bent on taking the bag carrying the sewing machine only to find it already gone and ending up turning to see Nathalie approaching the door. Dress draped over her arms. Bag in hand. Somehow still managing to hold her phone despite it all. A little more than a year ago, the juggling feat would have amused him, now—

“I’m not an _invalid_ , Nathalie.”

It hit him the moment he spoke. What he sounded like. Whom he had taken upon himself to vent his frustrations on.

“That was—”

_Unnecessary._

_Uncalled for_.

 _Ungrateful_ , his mind finished for him, unforgiving, and he stepped to take the far too heavy sewing machine from her hands, holding the blue gaze.

“I didn’t mean that.”

The bag changed hands, the door opening allowing them to step outside the storeroom and into the theatre’s service corridors, away from the crowds, from the press, from the spotlights, from the laughter and conversations. There had been a time when he had belonged there—but it all seemed foreign now. Little but a fading dream.

A reddish pink dome appeared on the night sky. Its light washing over the city at the very moment they entered a small green room and he took the blue dress from Nathalie’s hands, setting it on the back of a chair, his mind rapidly running away from him, leaving him staring blindly outside… at least, until she approached the window, and Gabriel found himself walking to stand beside her, eyes on the black and red figures disappearing into the night.

"Did you discover who they are?" Nathalie queried, watching him as he leaned against the wall.

"No."

But waiting in the soon to be shattered quiet of a makeshift dressing room, a new glance at the city showing an empty sky, he wondered.

He wondered.

 

#### Adrien

“Do you think she got home safely?” Adrien queried, pacing in front of the large glass wall of his bedroom, keeping watch over the distant rooftops. “He might have gone after her. Ladybug, I mean. He didn’t come after me, so… She could have given me her phone number or e-mail, right? Just to know she is alright!”

“You have the communicator thingy on your staff.”

 _Right!_ The communicator. He could turn back into Chat Noir, pick it and—!  _It doesn’t work unless we are both transformed!_

“I hate this secrecy thing!”

He let himself fall into the sofa with that, pressing the command buttons so fast Nadia Chammok kept going in and out of focus, her words still possible to be stitched out despite his search for his other source of concern.

“If something had happened it would be all over the news, right?” he asked, keeping watch over the changing channels, Plagg flying belly up over him, looking utterly confused.

“Happened to whom?”

Adrien was up, jumping over the back of the sofa and getting mid way to the piano before Plagg could call after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the hallway, to wait for Father.”

“You can wait for him here! You have everything you can possibly want right at this table. Me.  _Cheeeeeeese—_ ”

The word was crowned by Plagg descending from what could only be assumed to be cheese heaven and appearing in front of his face with such a stinky piece on his hands Adrien was covering his nose the same instant.

“Plagg! Take that away!”

Still wielding his cheese, the kwami sighed.

“No palate for delicacies.”

“I’m the one without  _palate_?”

“I’m sharing my cheese.”

“Please,  _please_ , don’t share it.”

Not so secretly that seemed to be exactly what Plagg wanted to hear, the very same moment—and for Adrien’s relief—the cheese was gone.

“I don’t get why you are concerned,” Plagg went on to say, liking his fingers. “What can your father possibly have said that got us into that mess with Wailer?”

Adrien sighed, leaning over the piano, head leaned against one hand.

“You know Father, Plagg.”

Floating in front of him, belly up, Plagg was probably having his memory affected by copious amounts of cheese.

“Remember Nino?” Adrien queried, raising one eyebrow.

Still, Plagg shrugged.

“Your father seems like the inteligent sort to me,” he said, picking another piece of cheese from the plate and sniffing it dreamly, before returning to normal-people realm. “He is clever enough to know when to flee for safety, right?”

“Yeah, and proud enough not to. Remember that _illusionist_? The one who completely wrecked the security system?”

“The one that tried to make him throw himself off the roof?” Plagg rephrased, making Adrien shiver at the memory. “He should have learned by now, right?”

“It’s  _Father_ ,” he countered, as if that put an end to all discussions. Which thinking about it, it kind of did. “At least, Nathalie should have said something, right? She always does.”

_Unless something happened to her too._

“They are fine,” Plagg said, seeing him running his hands through his hair. “You will see. They will be back before I can eat this giant-sized delicious piece of sweet sweet Roquefort.”

Adrien never even got a chance to glimpse said cheese, the minute he turned, Plagg was already mid-way into his triumphant “Ta-Tan!” and spinning to point the room’s door—clearly expecting to hear the front door opening on the lower floor.

Worried as he was there was no way Adrien could stop a chuckle from getting through to his lips.

“No one can get to the door that fast, Plagg.”

The kwami was unperturbed by the news, picking a larger piece of cheese and hanging it in front of his already opened mouth.

“Before I eat this…”

The brie disappeared faster than the Roquefort and again Plagg turned to the door. Again, nothing happened.

“Well, I have the entire cheese plate to go over.” He looked up, trying to sound reassuring. “He will return, you’ll see.”

Adrien’s already tremulous smile wavered further still, nails sinking into his arm, eyes meeting the smiling face on the screen of his still silent phone.

_Mom didn’t._

It was what scared him the most.

 

#### Gabriel

“It is mostly everywhere now,” Nathalie was saying, her voice cutting through the piano aria on the radio as the car went beneath one of the city’s many bridges. “The press is having a field day with it.”

There was a moment the words didn’t register. The city lights on the other bank of the Seine and the red trails of the cars as they drove by, having lulled his mind into such a comfortable state of emptiness not even Nooroo, nestled as he was on his jacket’s collar and peeking at the city, could elicit more than a lackluster annoyance from him.

“The press can have a field day with mostly everything,” Gabriel whispered, fatigued, a trace of drowsiness in his voice. “It’s of no consequence.”

“This is  _not_  ‘of no consequence.’”

Gabriel glanced at the phone over the car’s console, the first tendrils of the present slowly jolting his mind back to work and tossing him straight into a late evening ‘scoop’ that had been going on for hours.

“What if someone recognizes you?” Nathalie insisted, her serene professional tone breaking through the images of a mass of butterflies blasting through the Parisian streets, the back of the figure the camera had been aimed at disappearing among them. “If they suspect—”

“I’m a fashion designer, Nathalie. There is little that spells ‘non-threatening’ better than that.”

“I beg to differ,” she replied, another bridge going by, lights painting the inside of the car yellow. “Madame Selene’s dress seemed liable to strangle her after you finished with it.”

“Ah, yes. That fits under the Costumer’s Prerogative Clause.”

Nathalie seemed to choke on something, then she cleaned her throat, still on topic.

“And the red dress? The one you gave her?”

“I gave  _Wailer_  a red dress,” Gabriel sighed.

“Even so. There are people who knew—”

“Selene is far too self-centered to spare it any mind, that manager of hers is overworked, that leaves—Adrien? I don’t think he cares about fashion enough to even notice. As I said it is of no consequence.”

Nathalie pressing her lips made him frown. The soft pulsing of the Miraculous next to his chest making him study her closed expression. He didn’t need Nooroo for this.

“You are worried.”

“I would have preferred you hadn’t done that, yes,” Nathalie replied, simply, glancing at the rear mirror and the road, then back to him. “Should I refuse any further contracts with Madame Selene?”

“If you value my sanity.”

“And the ones already scheduled?”

“Find some work conflict. Cancel them.”

Hitting the turn indicator stalk and joining the traffic as it turned to the city,  _le Tour Eiffel_  appearing at their front, Nathalie glanced his way, a crease forming between her eyebrows.

“What will you do about the dinner?” she queried. “Adrien—”

“Will understand.”

“—had been waiting to spend time with you for weeks.”

“Reschedule it. It shall be easy enough without Selene’s constant pestering getting in the way of everything.”

“There is the fashion show in some weeks.”

“Yes. The  _fashion show_.” He stopped, pensive. “Has Audrey confirmed her presence yet?”

“She has.”

“I will need a favor from you.”

“Anything.”

_Anything…_

She could have asked what this was about. She  _should have_ asked. Instead—

“I believe I may need to change tactics,” he found himself confiding in her. “I have been giving little thought to any of this—Not to say hyper-focusing on that bug.”

“You said in a worst case scenario it was paramount to get Ladybug’s miraculous first,” Nathalie pointed out, _Les Champs de Mars_ going by the window before she made the turn towards the house. “She was the priority.”

“Yes… on account of her being able to purify the akumas, not the usefulness of her kwami. I would much rather have that cat’s Cataclysm at my disposal if worse come to pass than anything on her arsenal.” His wrist choosing that very moment to start pulsing, seemed to mock him for dismissing her like this. “Nevertheless, to remove her interference would facilitate operations—”

“But?”

“I might have been underestimating the cat.”

Nathalie’s glance at his wrist didn’t go unnoticed.

“That was her.”

 _And then she froze,_ he finished, disdainfully, the car starting to slow down allowing him to raise the wrist to the light.  _Not him, though._

The cat had seen this for what it was. A weakness to be exploited and gone straight for the Miraculous.

“He is not the jabbering idiot he likes to present himself as,” he growled under his breath, only to lean his chin against his injured hand, thoughtful. “Also there is this remarkable resemblance—”

“With whom?”

“Adrien.”

Nathalie braked so hard the car stalled, climbing up the sidewalk, hiccupping forward, a column appearing dangerously close to its front making them both fall on the handbrake, pulling it and turning on each other.

“You think that is  _Adrien_?!”

“I think there is a  _resemblance_!”

“You  _engaged_  them!”

“A resemblance! Try not to smash the car against the gate over it!”

The house was in front of them now. The illuminated windows sending long traces of warm yellowish light over the courtyard. And it was to them Nathalie turned, eyes going up and down the _château_   façade, distress running freely on her face, nails sinking into the steering wheel.

“No.”

The forceful, final note to that word was such that even Nooroo moved to listen, peeking from under Gabriel’s chin.

“They aren’t alike,” she was saying, hitting the ignition button. “Chat Noir is this high-spirited  _boy_. Adrien—”

She put the car back in gear, pebbles snapping under its wheels as she maneuvered it into and around the courtyard, her usual distant professionalism setting in again, turning the words into silence, emptying her expression of emotion.

“And Adrien?” Gabriel probed, softly. “What is he like?”

A sad smile rose to his face when Nathalie turned a pair of remarkably distant eyes on him.

“I don’t think I know him that well,” she said.

The car came to a stop as the large iron gates cut the house from the city, the fresh night air hitting their faces as they stepped into the well lit courtyard and went up the stairs, the hallway lights blinding them for an instant.

“Nathalie, about the dinner—” She already had her hand to the atelier’s door handle when he spoke. “I will make it up to—”

The words died, the paleness taking over his face making Nathalie step in his direction and then turn to follow his line of sight, her attention too falling on this figure—His son. On his pajamas—slumbering in the first step of the staircase, head leaning against the railway, phone grasped to his chest. It was all so reminiscent of another time, of the beginning of this never-ending nightmare, that he had moved even before she had a chance to, dropping in front of him, heart sinking in such a way that it might as well have stopped.

“Adrien, what happened?”

He stirred the moment he spoke. The moment their eyes met, he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

“Father!”

Grabbing at the railway as not to lose his balance—which he did anyway the instant Adrien sank into his chest and his injured hand failed to keep both of them anchored on spot—Gabriel sank to his knees, confusion making his attention run all over the atrium in search of he knew-no-what, his instinct reaction to call for Nooroo broken only by Adrien pulling himself off his chest, a surprising ferocity in his eyes.

“There was one of those akumatized people at the Gala!” he pointed out, just short of shouting. “Where were you?! Why wouldn’t you say you were fine?!”

The atelier door clicked, Nathalie’s quick retreat still giving him time to glance at her back. The truth sounded nothing short of idiocy now.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Why wouldn’t you say something  _anyway?!_ ”

His voice choked, immediately Adrien buried his face on one hand, the gesture sparing him the sight of Gabriel’s  fingers stopping mere inches from his shoulder, utterly unable to close the distance. And yet, attention falling on the phone Adrien had dropped, on Emilie as she smiled up at him, he understood this all too well.

“It won’t happen again.”

“It better.”

There were still limits, though.

“Language.”

A half snort half sob came from behind the hand covering the green eyes and the phone turned to black on the floor, leaving him with Emilie’s absence and their son leaning back into his chest, the same question still being whispered.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

He hadn’t been crying before—He was now. And putting his arms around him, head going to lie on top of his, Gabriel closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He truly hadn’t thought there was anything of his heart left to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> If anyone is wondering, yes, Marinette is going to enter a lot more! How could she not? :)
> 
> See you next time!


	2. Medusa - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to _Jojo1112_ , whose feedback and help made this chapter a lot better than it initially was.
> 
>  _Purpledragon6_ , this took a lot longer than expected to write, hope you like it :)
> 
>  _LivyWrites, ProtoZero, Scipunk63, Urata,_ once again thank you so much for your kind comments!
> 
>  _Lilo202_ , I tried to keep your advice in mind, let's see if it worked!
> 
> And thank you also to the rest of you that decided to stick around :)
> 
> This is a two part chapter so relax and enjoy!

#### Adrien

It felt like he had just fallen asleep. The alarm clock going off right next to his ear so startling him that Adrien found himself rooted under the sheets, listening as the beeping rose in volume and was quickly, if weirdly, turned off.

Confused, his mind so disoriented he couldn’t remember where he was—much less why he would need an alarm clock scaring him to death at 7 am—Adrien ended curling up again. So convinced was he that he was home, on the countryside, that he was dozing off in a pair of seconds, slipping away into the warmth and comfort of the bed, his rest disturbed only by this nagging sensation that he was lying in the wrong position for this to be home—and then by something moving at his side. Some kind of animal, he thought—a cat, a not entirely awake part of his mind put in—before the phone’s glare hit his face, the sound of a video being put on play reached his ears and he buried his head on the pillow, groaning in protest, one hand reaching out from under the sheets to snag the phone from whoever it was that had it.

“Shouldn’t you be getting up or something?” a tiny, slightly croaky voice queried when his hand closed over the phone, the sound of stretching and yawning and _purring_ giving way to a suddenly excited note. “Are we staying in bed? Are we ditching school?”

School—?

“ **School!** ”

The bed sheets were sent _flying_. Crashing at the foot of the bed. Cascading to the floor. And Adrien was up. Reaching for the glass wall’s command. Last night blasting inside his head in such a tidal wave of embarrassment when the metal shutters opened to let the morning light in, that he was left standing next to the bed, taking in all he should have done the day before rather than be on the hallway, pacing and fretting and _bawling_ all over father like he was back to being four!

“Plagg, help me out!”

“Must I?”

He was not hearing. Neither was he glancing towards the bed to see if Plagg was dropping the phone to come to his aid. No. He was _running!_ In and out of the shower. Towel in one hand and toothbrush in the other. Shirt half-way down his neck. Fighting to dry his hair and wash his teeth and dress all in one go—only to remember upon finding his breakfast on the table that he had not _eaten yet_! and jump back inside the bathroom, toss everything into the sink and come back out.

It was probably a funny spectacle this. Him going around with half a baguette between his teeth, running from the desk to the sofa to the piano to the wardrobe, school bag over one shoulder, fencing bag over the other, shoving inside everything that was spread out through the room. Still, at least, Plagg seemed to have taken pity on him and not go around cheering him on while doing absolutely nothing to help. Not that he was doing _something_ , but in the midst of his panic, Plagg’s absence truly only became apparent when he failed to enter the bag after everything else was there.

“Plagg?”

Adrien looked around. The room looked the same as always now that he had gathered all his stuff—never mind his bag looking like a tornado had swept in. Still, one would think that finding a black kwami between the white sofa next to the glass wall, the equally white piano in the middle of the room, the sports equipment to the left and the movies on the floor up, wouldn’t be that difficult…

And it wasn’t.

Plagg was lying on the bed. With his phone. Watching videos. No surprises there. And dropping the fencing bag near the door, Adrien jogged to get him, diving over the ruffled bed sheets on the floor to land on top of the bed, the mattress jumping beneath them sending Plagg a few centimeters up in the air—where he remained afterwards, still holding the phone.

“You know,” he said, attention on the display. “I hadn’t seen Nooroo in ages.”

Adrien’s fingers stopped short of grabbing kwami and phone. A glance between the two leaving him sprawled on the bed, lying on his stomach, attention moving from Plagg to the video—one of several thousand, he suspected, that had been captured after him and Ladybug had been sent crashing into the traffic by Hawkmoth and he had joined them on the ground. Grinning. Rapier being kicked into one hand.

It was probably silly that only now, in the safety of his room, in a _video_ , did he notice how much older—how much _taller_ —Hawkmoth was than both Ladybug and him. That he remembered what that butterfly-shaped broche he wore was, other than being just a Miraculous.

“His name is Nooroo?” he said in little but a whisper, a glance towards Plagg leaving guilt to twist his stomach. Why had he never spared a thought to this? “He is your friend?”

Plagg gave him a toothy grin.

“We are all friends!”

“Yeah, right…” Adrien tossed one of the pillows to the foot of the bed, going to sit cross legged and pointing at the screen, straight at Hawkmoth’s Miraculous. “If you were me, Nooroo would be Nino or… I don’t know, someone from school—Nathaniel?”

Silence was his answer. That and Plagg pulling the video all the way back and staring sadly into the screen.

_Nino, then._

A hand being put over Plagg’s head, Adrien stroked it.

“Sorry we didn’t get him back.”

“You couldn’t have done much more,” Plagg replied, gently, now looking at Hawkmoth. “I hope he is not mean to him. It helps when the holder likes us, you know? Especially if they are like _that_ and we are alone.” Plagg’s voice turned quieter. “Like I was.”

“Like _you_ were?”

It was like a lightning bolt had hit the kwami. Plagg dropped the phone, rising belly up in front of Adrien.

“But it’s good to see Nooroo with a keen sense of style!” he exclaimed. “Like _moi_! Look at that smart suit! No more of those rags he got his holders in! You should have seen those things—!”

“No, no, no,” Adrien interrupted, one hand raised. “You were telling me something else. What was this about you being alone?”

“The time!” Plagg shrieked, pointing at the clock right next to one of mother’s pictures. “Look at the time! Don’t you have some of that school to attend or something?”

“We have time.” They actually hadn’t, but that was nor here nor there and he was worried. “What happened?”

A tiny hand was now calling his attention to the phone lying in the midst of the ruffled white sheets Adrien was sitting on, the image of a mass of white butterflies blasting through the Parisian streets, of Hawkmoth disappearing among them, making a smug expression cross Plagg’s face.

“Do you know I can do that too?” he queried, green eyes twinkling. “With cats?”

_C–Cats?_

“Watch!”

“No! Don’t do that with cats!” Adrien exclaimed and closed both hands over the kwami, shoving him inside the school bag and rushing to get out of the room, his race for the atrium broken only by the sound of footsteps and of a door being unlocked, the same ominously calm—

 “What do you mean there is a problem with the line-up?”

—that made Plagg peer from inside the bag, making last night come back to haunt Adrien with such clarity that he was frozen for a moment, hand over the cold marble handrail, looking up at the topmost floor and father’s bedroom door, the certainty he had been either crying or clinging to him— _sometimes both!—_ for most of the night sending him fleeing the other way in a panic.

“ _Ohh_ —He is up early!” Plagg announced, happily, voice muffled by father locking his door and Adrien struggling to get the one leading to his room open.

Why, why must father be up early?! He was never up early!

“Also, that is some fancy light blue he has on!” Plagg continued. “I admit that suit he wore yesterday really didn’t fit his—Wait! Where are we going?!”

Adrien had just managed to get back inside his room, a perplexed Plagg taking to watch him take cover behind the door and then peek through the small gap between it and the doorframe.

“What are you _doing_?” he queried, flying out of the bag and joining him in watching father stop for a pair of seconds in the top floor landing, frowning and looking around the empty black and white atrium. “You are always saying he is never around and now that he is—”

“ _Shhh_ —”

“—you are not saying hi to him?”

Adrien bit his lips. Father was going down the stairs now. Phone pressed to one shoulder and going over his wrist buttons, the grimace flashing through his face from time to time leading Adrien to stretch his neck, trying to work out if that was actually pain or just irritation—In the end, however, he closed the door, head going to rest against the climbing wall behind him, Plagg left to stare at him.

“Are you hiding from your father?”

Actually, he was. After _last night_ , he was far too mortified to face him. To talk to him. To even say _good morning_. In fact, there was this horrifying possibility taking hold of his mind that—

“I won’t be able to face him ever again…”

“You don’t _s_ _eriously_ think he is holding last night against you—” Plagg sighed, then frowned. “ _Right?_ ”

“And use it as an excuse to find me four bodyguards or something?” Adrien elaborated, hands running through his hair. “Yes!”

The kwami let out a good-humored cackle, a huge teasing smile on his face.

“Your father was right, you know? You are—” Plagg cleaned his throat, lading on one of the climbing rocks and going incredibly straight, hands behind his back. “Overly dramatic.”

Adrien was left gaping. That was… That had been entirely too good an impression for anyone—much less a cat-shaped kwami—to ever aspire to. He had captured father to a fault. The rigid aristocratic poise. The closed expression. The careful inflection of the words. Even that thing with the sigh and the slight eye roll Adrien remembered him doing since—well, forever.

Honestly, maybe Plagg had just mimicked father a little too well.

“I was not being _overly dramatic_ ,” Adrien tossed at him, crossing his arms. “One of Hawkmoth’s victims was coming for him, I just wanted Father to be safe. Instead, he went all dismissive on me and did whatever he pleased!”

“Don’t you do that to him?”

“It’s not remotely the same!” Adrien retorted, back to running his hands through his hair. “And you know what? After yesterday, he must be thinking I am a _baby_!”

“If he is like any of the fathers I knew, he will always see you as one.”

Adrien pressed his temples, facing the kwami’s bright green eyes and huge grin with a sigh.

Really?

“You are so not helping, Plagg.”

Opening the door to peek outside again, finding father on the lower floor, blue eyes having slipped to the portrait of the two of them hanging on the stairs, Adrien dropped his head, the sadness that had been on father's face just before he entered the atelier now reflected on his.

“Why are you defending him all of a sudden?” he asked Plagg, quietly, only to be met with an innocent expression.

“Can I _not_ like your father?”

_Yeah, right._

“Tell me one thing you like about him that doesn’t play into your laziness.”

“Is him wanting you to stay in the house one of those?”

Adrien rolled his eyes— _Figures_ —and opened the bag, pointing inside. Plagg obeyed with a very theatrical sigh, yawning as he went to sit on the small cardboard box next to the piled up books, looking up at him.

“Go and say hi to him.”

“After _yesterday_? I can’t.”

“Of course, you can!” Plagg laughed and Adrien _surely_ was not seeing him cuddling cheese as he curled next to the books. “But do as you wish, I will sleep and _not_ hear _anything_ about how much you miss him for the rest of the day!”

Adrien bit his lips.

“That is not— _Plagg?_ ”

Snoring. And shaking his head, reaching inside the bag to cover the kwami with a handkerchief, Adrien stepped outside his bedroom, waving at his bodyguard upon finding him making his way inside, and ending up stopping in front of the atelier despite it all, hand raised, taking a deep breath, and—

_“Missing?”_

His hand stopped upon hearing father's voice talking on the phone. The short knock still loud enough that there was movement inside, the clicking of low heels coming his way, then stopping as the door handle was pulled down and Nathalie appeared, hair tied in her usual bum, clipboard in hand, a short “yes?” being drowned by father's voice shouting from the other end of the atelier.

**_“What do you mean some are missing?!”_ **

Nathalie glanced to her left, towards the place the infuriated exclamation had risen from, Adrien’s effort to follow her lead and peek inside being cut by her stepping out, one hand over his shoulder softly pulling him alongside her.

 **_“Those drafts are_ ** _**numbered! How did no one get an inkling something was off?!”**_

“What happened?” Adrien queried, attention on the door she was closing. “Is there a problem?”

“Not one you should concern yourself with,” Nathalie cut him off, skillfully, calling his attention to her as she leaned over the schedule on her clipboard, one she had now taken to read. “You have fencing after school. Two hours on account of the tournament. M. Agreste has asked me to reschedule your Chinese lessons for today and Thursday on account of it. They are on the weekend now. Saturday.”

She gazed at him from over her clipboard, before letting it drop to her side.

“I believe you have a birthday party on Sunday.”

 _Marinette’s surprise party_ , Adrien recalled and, for a moment, he stared at Nathalie.

“You—” He hesitated. “You remembered that?

Her brows immediately drew together.

“Of course. You told me.”

“And you spoke with Father?” He was barely able to believe she had done it. Again. When he hadn’t found the courage to. “Can I go?”

“If you wish.”

He stopped just short of tossing his arms around her. The memory of how tense she got every time he had hugged her making him smile at her instead.

“Thanks.”

Even something as simple as this seemed to make her uncomfortable, though. She dropped her eyes to the floor, giving a bag Adrien hadn’t noticed she had been carrying to his bodyguard.

“Change of clothes,” she clarified, still not looking at him. “For after fencing. Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes.” He pointed at the bag on his shoulder and one of the two now hanging from his bodyguard’s arms. “School bag. Fencing equipment. I will see you later!”

He made it for the door, stepping onto the front courtyard with his bodyguard, a sudden feeling of freedom practically sending him running to the car parked at the foot of the stairs before Nathalie was able to call to him.

“Adrien…” she sighed from the top of the stairs. “Schedule.”

 _Oups!_ He ran back to her and towards the sun beaten _chateau_ , taking the schedule out of her left hand and putting it inside the bag.

“Right! Tell Father I wish him a—”

He hesitated, the irate **_“I don’t care how they got lost!”_** coming from inside the house making the two of them glance at the hallway and the atelier door, Nathalie getting back to him with one eyebrow raised.

“A good day?” she offered.

“A tolerable one might be better,” Adrien replied in kind, massaging his neck, and for a moment, a mere second, he thought he saw her smile. “Bye, Nathalie!”

And he stepped down the stairs again, putting his bags inside the trunk, then getting into the car, one last glance towards the atelier’s windows just before the iron gates cut the house from the city making a sudden sadness sweep over his mind.

“See you later, Father.”

Plagg was right. He missed him already.

 

#### Gabriel

The video-call was turned off in rage, irate words still echoing in the atelier as the display returned to the black butterfly that was his company’s logo and Gabriel moved away from the white console, teeth clenched and fuming, attention snapping to the opening door and Nathalie as soon as she made her way back inside.

“It stood to reason that **_someone_** in a five floor building would know how to do their jobs,” he told her, hands behind his back, pacing leading him around the table. “We have a one hundred piece line for the fashion show. Fifteen drafts weren’t delivered— _or so they state_ —and **_no one_** thinks to bring it to my attention until the last minute?! We have what?! Six weeks?!”

Closing the door, Nathalie nodded, moving to stand between the table and the windows after he marched passed her, attention following his back.

“That is about it, yes.”

“Am I **_expected_** to deliver half a year’s work in three days?!” Gabriel snapped. “Or to have the full workshop moved on location and the pieces still being stitched together—or better yet _glued!_ —right in the middle of the event?!”

“Those pieces were registered,” Nathalie reminded him, calmly, her position right in the middle of his path forcing his pacing to a halt. “Even if they were stolen, your legal team—”

“A lot of good they are if some meddlesome reporter gets his hands on whatever was made of them—and at this point someone already made sure they did!—and starts accusing me of plagiarism!”

Gabriel pressed the bridge of his nose. The headlines. To think of the headlines!

“If it is bad publicity I want, I can put it out myself! I don’t need these vultures circling around me to— _Sacré!_ With how much I pay these people it’s not much to ask them to think! Or, at the very least _count_!”

“You are certain you sent them?” Nathalie insisted, a step to her left keeping her on his path and him on spot when he tried to move passed her. “Can they be here? In the house?”

“They are _not—_ ”

A low grumble—the sound of a car engine coming to live—stroke him silent. Standing straighter, head turning towards the windows still in time to see Adrien go around the black car, Gabriel took an instinctive step towards him—and came to a stop. A look at the street beyond the iron gate, at the people walking by, rushing to get to metro station just in front, leading him to retreat further inside the atelier… where it was safe and he was out of sight.

“How was he?” he queried, watching Adrien disappear behind the tinted windows. “After—?”

 _Yesterday_ was left unspoken between them, Nathalie too turning her gaze outside, towards Adrien—no matter if a shadow was everything they could see after he closed the car's door—leaving them side by side for a moment. In silence. Until silence become overwhelming.

“Was he alright?”

“He seemed to be,” Nathalie reassured. “Excited for school. His usual self.”

“He had everything?”

“I made sure.”

A glance his way and Nathalie stepped back, her reflection—still clear to him even as his attention remained outside, on the departing black car—turning smaller as she walked the entire length of the table, to the trolley on the opposite end of it.

“Adrien won’t be back until dinner,” she informed, taking a carefully organized stack of paper from inside one of the blue archives and putting it on the table. “He has fencing after school.”

“I recall.”

A pair of blue eyes met his through the reflection, hesitant, his questioning frown achieving nothing but make her attention drift to the sketch lying on top of the pile she had just put down.

“I have taken the liberty of marking the tournament on your agenda,” she went on to say, the already fading smile the design had brought to her face seeming to steel her enough to face him again. “I assumed you wished to attend it.”

Gabriel looked back, not at her but at the golden painting at the end of the atelier. Eyes on Emilie’s green ones. Heart torn.

“You have never missed any of Adrien’s fencing events before.” Nathalie reminded him, the sound of the iron gates closing making Gabriel turn back to the window, towards Adrien, to find the courtyard empty… and him gone. “Sir?”

He shook his head, marching to where she stood next to the console, an appraising look at the stacks of paper, ending with him giving a wide gesture to it all.

“What is this?”

Emptying another of the archives, Nathalie kept at her work, unshaken by the sudden chill to his words.

“It is possible I misfiled some of the works for the fashion show.”

“You? _Misfiling_?” Gabriel sneered, fingers reaching for the closest of the archives. “I find that improba—”

His entire body shuddered, the stab of pain sinking into his wrist sending the archive back to the table, its contents spilling everywhere, and leaving Gabriel to hold his right wrist to his chest. The pain was such he didn’t notice Nathalie leave his side. Or step out of the atelier. Or even returning. Only that she was here now and had somehow managed to make him sit and get the arm out of his grip. Her fingers were unbuttoning the wrist buttons. The black bruising underneath immediately made her grimace.

“With your permission.”

The touch of her fingertips while rolling up the sleeve almost made him rip his arm away from her, unsettled. The cloth she was raising to his wrist, the pain that came with it leaving him fighting to keep still until a soothing cold took the fight out of him, allowing him to lean his head to one hand and close his eyes—the Miraculous taking to pulse alongside the calm voice at his side.

“Is there a problem?” Nathalie sounded more than just concerned. “It’s just ice.”

Yes, he could see that _now_. What had he thought—?

“Sir?”

“Ice, Nathalie,” he said, eyes still firmly closed. Pain seemed to have robbed his voice from much, if not all, emotion. “You brought ice. It stood to reason someone as overqualified as you—”

“Would take you to a hospital?”

“You are not taking me to a hospital.”

“You said this would be healed in the morning,” Nathalie argued, inflexible. “Or did you forget to specify which one?”

Their eyes met. Dull blue and bright blue. The first gazing through the fingers covering them, the second taking the glare in stride. In the end, however, it was Nathalie who broke the stare, shaking her head, attention dropping to the vicious bruising on his skin and the ice she held to it.

“How does that feel?”

“Discreet.”

“Feel,” she sighed, moving the ice very softly over the bruise. “There is no one in the house to see it.”

“Otherwise, they would have a great deal of difficulty to unsee it,” Gabriel replied, testing his fingers, the bolt of pain running up his arm was still there, if numbed out by the cold. “It’s—bearable.”

“Bearable.” Nathalie repeated and leaned closer, voice dropping. “How do you intend to work like this?”

“I will not be repeating last night’s stunt anytime soon. This should hardly be problematic if I remain in the Observatory.”

It felt as if someone had punched his chest. The Miraculous pulsing, _painfully_ , leaving him to study the woman at his side.

“I thought it would please you,” he trailed off, eyebrows drawing together. Her sadness seemed to have only deepened further.

“When I spoke of work, I meant—”

Nathalie looked around, to the sketches over the table, to the stone models in front of them, to the atelier as a whole—and shook her head, getting back to her feet, back to her job and the sheets spread out all over the table and floor.

“Before I forget, Sir—” she said, evening up the edges of the pile she had just gathered against the table, a glance his way finding Gabriel holding the ice to his own arm. “Your son told me to wish you a tolerable day.”

“By any chance did he also tell you what he was doing bolting for his room rather than telling me that?”

“Not that I recall.”

The small pile was extended to him. Rather than let it fall to his hands, however, Nathalie held on to it, calling his attention to her.

“Adrien really did that?” she queried, eyebrows raised.

“It was a poor spectacle,” he told her, fondness somewhat softening his otherwise disapproving tone. “Worse considering he was peeking from inside his room afterwards.”

“You didn’t go to him?”

“He didn’t seem to want me to.”

The sketches were set over the table, a glance to his left—towards one of the first piles Nathalie had put down—making Gabriel stretch his hand to pick up the sketch lying on top, the one she had been smiling at not that long ago. He was frowning as soon as his eyes fell on it. The two-piece dark yellow suit with black details—something from the winter collection from four or five seasons ago, if he remembered correctly—immediately making him question why Nathalie had even been smiling at this in the first place.

“Hardly your style,” Gabriel commented. “Mustard? That is something I would expect of Audrey Bourgeois and that daughter of hers, not— _Ah._ Of course.”

He had just lifted the picture stapled on top corner, the one showing the piece on the runway, the registry lying beneath, filled in Nathalie’s distinctive backhand writing, making him press his lips. Audrey had bought this. What a surprise.

“A shame, isn’t it?” he went on to say, the trace of melancholy in his voice making Nathalie raise her attention from the works she was picking from the floor and look between him and the sketches he was now flicking through. “With whom it ended with. With whom most of these end with instead of someone _deserving._ ”

Gabriel got up, leaving the sketches behind, his path leading him passed his assistant and towards the bookcase to the right of the table. Attention caught on Adrien’s drawing—still tore but back on its place—he pulled a folder from one of the dossiers standing to the side, making his way back to the table.

“I will need you to deliver something to headquarters.”

Receiving the folder from his hands, Nathalie peeked inside, curious—then, with eyebrows raised.

“It doesn’t look like the rest of the collection,” she commented, attention going over the suit with its wide trousers and open jacket. “It doesn’t even look like one of yours.”

“It doesn’t?”

Nathalie raised her attention to him, studying his expression.

“I assume it’s intentional.”

“That’s Adrien’s attire. For the fashion show,” Gabriel clarified, rolling down the sleeve to button it up again, Nathalie's touch still lingering. “I needed it to match the hat’s style, more importantly not to overstage it. I probably should have let that friend of his have a try at the model, considering it’s her work—”

It would have given him time, come to think of it. Time he desperately needed. But it mattered little now. It was done.

“We will need the new measurements for that piece,” Gabriel went on to say, fingers tapping the top of the folder Nathalie was holding. “Not to say every single other he models in the next weeks if his photograph constant moaning about having to drive three different sizes to every photo shot location is anything to go by.”

Nathalie nodded, making her way to her desk on the other side of the atelier.

“More importantly, however,” Gabriel continued. “When you are with Adrien at lunch see that he eats something. I am not at all certain whatever they serve in that school qualifies as food.”

The folder was put over the desk next to the windows, Nathalie looking back, expression filled with confusion, however, made Gabriel frown.

“You told him.” There was a trace of impatience on his voice. “About today’s measurements.”

“Today’s?”

He pressed his lips.

“I informed you about this last night.”

“You _didn’t_ —I will phone him right away!”

Nathalie practically ran outside, the door clicking behind her leaving Gabriel to himself, the empty atelier and Nooroo as he flew out of the jacket, the fearful look he gave him barely registering in Gabriel's mind as he took off the blue scarf and set it right beside the sketch Nathalie had looked so fondly at, taking it into his hands, wondering, until the Miraculous gave one loud beep and he set it aside, stepping into the darkness under Emilie’s watchful gaze.

“Today,” he promised her.

He would not be failing _today_.

#### Adrien

“There is something weird going on with my schedule,” Adrien stated, his voice, barely audible under the conversations and laughter filling the school inner courtyard, still loud enough to make all three of his friends lean forward and close ranks around him. “This can’t be right.”

Heads joined in a circle, what was clearly intended as helpful enthusiasm giving away to pensive expressions, Alya, Marinette and Nino ended up going back to sit on the cold tile floor, trading a series of confused glances.

“What is the problem?” Alya, seemingly the trio’s silently elected spokeswoman, queried, eyebrows raised. “It looks normal.”

To them, perhaps. And that was kind of the problem. What was normal to his friends was usually nothing short of abnormal to him.

“I have free time.”

Seated right in front of him, Nino let out a guffaw of laughter, patting Adrien's shoulder with such enthusiasm Adrien and the two girls where left staring at him.

“Come on, dude, you are worried because you have _free time_?” Nino beamed, grinning widely. “It’s more like your old man is finally seeing the light!”

“Don’t let Father hear you calling him _that_.”

“Dude, the guy hates me already,” Nino shrugged, taking the schedule out of Adrien's hands to study it and smiling all the more widely. “This looks great!”

Arms crossed, leaning towards Nino so she could read it too, Alya gave a doubtful look to the groaning metal stairs they had chosen to seat beneath before returning to Adrien with a serious expression.

“Maybe you simply don’t have anything today?” she offered, diplomatically.

“No photo shots? No piano practice?” Adrien shook his head, watching as Nino gave the schedule to Marinette. “I always, _always_ have something.”

Having kept quiet until know—for the most part busy tying her raven black hair into a single gym-class-approved-ponytail as she listened to the rest of them speak—Marinette put her legs beneath her, going to sit in what was practically a kneeling position, and tilted her head towards the schedule, pensive. In the end, she gave it a firm nod and raised her attention towards Adrien. Serious and matter-of-fact.

“Maybe I want to spend time with you.”

Adrien barely managed not to be smacked in the face by Alya as she raised her arms in celebration. The words so completely wiping the schedule, the school, the people running down the stairs above and the tiny bits of rust falling on them—not to say absolutely everything else—off his mind, that he had turned to Marinette the same instant. Smiling, if completely perplexed.

“You do?”

“ _Yes_ —” Her eyes seemed to double in size, the dreamy sigh turning into full-fledged panic. “No! I mean maybe your father wants to spend time with us!”

_W-What?_

“Father… wants to spend time with us?”

“With you!” Marinette half laughed, letting her head fall to her hands under Adrien’s increasingly confused gaze. “No, that isn’t it either.”

“Girl—” Alya sighed, joining Nino in giving Marinette a sympathetic pat on the head before turning towards a very puzzled Adrien. “She meant he, your father, wants you to spend time with us, you know, your friends.”

 _Oh_ —Adrien’s attention returned to Marinette, finding her with her head hanging low and biting her lips, eyes jumping between him and the floor. Was that what she had meant? That was—That was sweet. And it made him smile. At her. No matter, how wrong she was.

“I really doubt it,” he nevertheless told the group, fighting with himself for a moment before deciding to confide in them. “Father doesn’t get friends. Or has friends. He has people he hates whom he calls friends.”

There were three very incredulous expressions in front of him. Nino’s paramount among them.

“That dude is so incredibly messed up.”

“I know he is messed up,” Adrien sighed, trying to shrug away the defensive _‘He was not like that’_ rising in the back of his mind only to hear it come tumbling down his tongue either way and end up smiling brightly at his friends and the curious, if barely audible, question coming from Marinette.

“What was he like?”

“Mother used to tell Father he was just over the top weird.”

They laughed. Fortunately. Alya tossing her head back for a heart-felt chuckle, Nino putting forth a good-humored—

“Your mother was some brave lady.”

—Marinette…

Their eyes meet as Adrien turned to her expecting—he didn’t know what he had been expecting. He just knew what he found. Marinette was still looking at him. Waiting. Seeming to have noticed that what he had given them was no answer. Judging by the hand moving to touch his arm, fingers rubbing it and then retreating as her eyes dropped again, that this in his face was no smile.

It made Adrien's chest clench with guilt.

_Sorry. It’s not you._

Adrien hit her shoulder lightly, playfully, his remorse actually getting worse when Marinette still found it in herself to raise her eyes to him and met his smile with one of her own.

_It’s just..._

It would have been no good answering. They wouldn’t believe him. Not when it came to Father. Nobody ever did. And that left him with only Nathalie. She had been with them _before_. And there was no one left other than the two of them to remember Father now.

“Are you alright, dude?”

Nino’s question brought Adrien back to the school courtyard, to the giggling and shouting and the basketball game going on just a few meters away—not to mention the group now running back up the stairs and making the metal give out a menacing groan. It was not the first time it crossed Adrien's mind they should get away from here, but not a second later he was back to the schedule and the stairs no longer mattered.

“They must have forgot to put something in,” Adrien put forth, tilting his head towards Marinette who still had the schedule.

“Isn’t that good though?” she offered, looking at him. “No one can blame you if they made a mistake.”

“Yeah, dude, what she said!” Nino immediately jumped in. “There is enough time for him to come with us, right?”

They were all looking at Alya now, who, pressing her lips thoughtfully, stretched her arm and with a quick _"Give it here"_ snatched the schedule Marinette was already giving her.

“So you have two hours after lunch, and then fencing—” she read, still with the same pensive expression. “Yeah there is no trouble. You can get back here in time.”

Nino punched the air in joy.

“What say you?” he said, rising one hand to high-five Adrien and seeing him remain on his spot, fingers drumming on his knee, lips pressed. “Dude, come on!”

“I don’t know… You have all seen how Father is...”

“Kind of a control-freak?” Nino put forth, not unkindly, only to be elbowed on both sides by Alya and Marinette. “What? He knows it’s true.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to say it,” Alya whispered through the corner of her mouth, letting her head fall in both her hands when Nino looked at her, utterly confused.

“But I have told him before. Tons of—”

“ _Really?_ ”

Adrien traded a quick glance with Marinette, their attempt to stop the scolding before it started failing so spectacularly they ended up turning to each other with strained smiles, trying to block Alya and Nino out with—

“So what do the three of you usually do?” Adrien asked, glancing at the basketball game on the other end of the courtyard, the ball missing the basket, ricocheting and jumping down the field while most everyone tried and failed to grab it, giving him about as good an escape as a chuckle. “Movies? Something of the sort?”

“It depends,” Marinette mused, bright blue eyes going from him to the basketball field and then back to him, a small smile touching her face before she started to count through her fingers. “There is the pool, André’s ice-creams, the ice ring… We were just going to camp at Alya’s house today. She bought this new dancing game she wants to show us. And I have my bag full of kitchen supplies, we were going to bake a cake and—”

Marinette stopped, her building of excitement giving way to a look of uncertainty. She was fidgeting with her fingers now. Biting her lips. Her next words spoken in a quiet voice.

“You want to come with us even if it is just that—” Her voice become tinier still. “Don’t you?”

Adrien blinked, attention immediately breaking away from the basketball game to focus entirely on her face. Just—Just _that_? Every single one of those things seemed like more fun than he had had his entire life! And he did want to go to Alya’s. More than anything. Yet, one hand running through his hair, he sighed, looking dejected.

“I do want to go, but it’s a mistake for sure and I don’t want to get Nathalie into trouble.”

“Why would she get in trouble?”

“If I am not where I am supposed to be, when I am supposed to be over some mistake in the schedule, Father will blame her,” Adrien confided, only to drop his voice further, certain he didn’t want anyone other than Marinette hearing what he said next. “Thing is, Father is the one who forgets to tell her I have something to attend. It’s always _his_ fault.”

Marinette was tilting her head at him, seemingly having a tough time making any sense of what Adrien had said. No wonder, considering it made none.

“They seemed to get along,” she finally mused, curious.

“They do get along—” _Wait_... Adrien’s eyebrows drew together, eyes searching Marinette’s expression. “How do you know that?”

“I—”

Marinette's eyes seemed to reach twice their usual size before she hit his arm clumsily—it reminded him of something, _someone, yesterday…_ but before Adrien could connect the dots as to who that was, Marinette's words had started to run over each other and he had lost his train of thought.

“You told us, remember?!” she exclaimed. “Nathalie was the one who got into school and also—also... your Father listens to her, isn’t it?!”

“I—”

The school bell going off left him pondering. Had he really said all of that? He didn’t remember telling anyone anything of the—

“You did tell us,” Alya intervened, elbowing Nino to get his attention away from the rest of the class, the school bell having made their colleagues rush to gather on the courtyard’s lower floor as everyone else moved up the stairs to the classrooms. “Remember?”

Nino turned his attention from waving at the very pink and also excitedly waving Rose and looked at the three of them with a smile.

“What are we talking about?”

Alya was pressing both sides of her head now.

“He **_told us_** it was Nathalie that got him to school,” she repeated, pointing at Adrien. “ _Right?_ ”

Nino seemed confused about who Nathalie even was for a moment.

“Nathalie… is that lady who answers the door?” he ended up asking, cautiously, turning to Adrien. “Blue eyes, pretty—?”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up.

“You think she is pretty?”

“—scary!” Nino’s immediate u-turn made Alya press her lips in a clear attempt to stop herself from bursting out laughing. “The way she looks at you...  And she and your father have this weird vibe going on, dude. Like they are surfing the same mental wave or something. He gets up there in the stairs and she is here right next to you and is like these two ice fronts crash right where you are and— _Whoosh!_ Instant kill, man!”

Marinette blinked, she too had taken to wave at their colleagues, in her case, however, that didn’t seem to hinder her from paying attention to the conversation.

“They do that?” she asked, turning back to them.

“Yeah, they do,” Adrien cringed, and Nino’s description was horribly accurate to say the least. Still from there to there being a weird vibe— “There is no weird vibe.”

Nino shook his head with fervor.

“There is an incredibly weird vibe,” he insisted, looking at the staffroom door—no teacher yet in sight—before continuing. “And then the house gives off this cold feeling, like—like something isn’t right. I mean… That hallway, that _portrait_ —”

All four of them shared a shiver.

“All the more reasons to rescue you!” Nino exclaimed, seemingly becoming aware of the atmosphere his words were creating. “Come on, you can blame me if it explodes in our faces! I am a bad influence, remember? I will tell your father I wrestled you all the way to Alya’s or something while you tried to be all responsible and get home.”

Adrien chuckled at the image, going back to look at the schedule. He really, _really_ wanted to go with them, but—

“It’s just a mistake.”

“Wouldn’t they have phoned by now if it was, though?” Marinette stepped in, serious, a note of something that wasn’t usually in her voice making her sound— _different_. “If something was really wrong it wouldn’t be that hard to fix.”

Alya nodded, head going to rest on one hand.

“She is right, you know.”

“See?” Nino said, and judging by his expression he had come just short of hugging both girls. “So you are fine, dude!”

Maybe he was. And a hint of hope had just found its way to Adrien's heart as he looked up to his friends.

“You really think Father gave me some free time?”

There were now three hands instead of one raised to high-five his and rising in answer Adrien ended being pulled into the group.

“You are coming with us!”

**_BAM!_ **

All four of them jumped. A door flying across the courtyard, leaving them locked in an awkward four people embrace and the rest of the class rooted on spot as a human-like creature with the head of a bull stepped outside the staffroom, a butterfly-shaped line of light surrounding its eyes.

“What the hell is _that_?!”

The words broke the spell that had kept them all in place. The school erupted in screaming. The ensuing panic—sending the groups waiting outside the classrooms fleeing in every direction, those already in the courtyard trying to get to the street—allowing Adrien to get lost from his friends who too tried to escape, sneak inside the empty locker room and run to get Plagg.

“Hawkmoth is at it _already_?” the kwami queried, still inside the locker and rubbing his eyes. “So early in the morning?”

There was snapping coming from outside, the rustling of leaves. Trading a quick glance, Adrien and Plagg rushed along the line of lockers and to the window, the huge hedges rising to surround the school coming clearly into view before they transformed.

 _You so have got to be kidding me!_ Adrien grumbled, opening the nearest window with the tip of the staff and extending it still in time to be able to get on top of the nearest hedge and rise over the city alongside it.

Could he not get one quiet day at school?! What on earth did Hawkmoth do with his life?!

 

#### Nathalie

Gabriel had failed. Again. She had known it from the moment she entered the dark atelier—even if she hadn’t seen him leave or noticed his absence as she so often did. Still, it was obvious. At least to her. It was in the tense line of his shoulders. In the twitch of his lips. In the way he kept pacing around the table and going over the archives from past seasons—even if he was doing little but humoring her by now. He knew he would find nothing as well as she did.

“What is it?”

Her attention slipped to the metal shutters covering the windows, then back to the shadows from where the brusque query had risen and the man moving among them. The feeling she had just spotted something purple dart over the table to get to him, leaving Nathalie to look at the dark blue waistcoat Gabriel wore and only then at his face.

“There was a call from headquarters.”

Gabriel’s pacing came to a stop near the stone models. Turning to her, a cold grin distorting his features, he tilted his head, cold and slightly mocking.

“Now _they_ have taken to hide behind you too?”

“For the bad news, Sir. As always.”

Laughter exploded on the atelier. Too loud and too cold and filled with something dark that made Nathalie close her fingers over the clipboard she carried with her, then drop it over her desk and walk to Gabriel, placing a determined hand on his arm. She could feel him shiver when she touched him, a ripple going softly through him. The laughter immediately stopped. The grin faded. A pair of lifeless blue eyes meeting hers as she spoke.

“There will be other opportunities.”

“For _what_? Other _failures_?”

Her fingers closed tighter over Gabriel's arm, holding it—holding him—until a sharp intake of breathe went passed his lips and Gabriel closed his hand over hers, squeezing it—and moved away, across the atelier, leaving Nathalie to watch his back as he stopped next to Emilie’s golden painting, not raising his eyes to it.

“What did headquarters tell you?” he queried, back cut against the painting’s illumination, the only light he had allowed inside.

“They have been able to confirm they received the complete line-up,” Nathalie informed him. “They are conducting an internal investigation to try to find where the missing works ended up.”

“They should try our competitors’ databases.”

Nathalie’s expression hardened.

“Should I tell them that?”

“By all means, allow _me_ ,” Gabriel replied, darkly, a smirk twisting his features as he turned to her—and then fading, a slight frown replacing it. “You have talked with Adrien.”

“Of course. I will join him briefly.”

Nathalie stepped back with that. Fleeing Gabriel's gaze, least he saw the lie. A last look inside the atelier showing Gabriel again with his back to her, glasses being set aside, pressing his eyes, before the door clicked between them and she was left hugging the clipboard, attention on the black and white butterfly pattern on the atrium’s floor. Admonishing herself for her lack of courage. For leaving him behind.

“Mlle. Sancoeur.”

The calling, rising alongside the sound of the front door opening, made Nathalie's back immediately go straighter, the stern—

“Yes?”

—with which she addressed whoever was getting inside, crossing her lips just as she turned on her heels. The atrium opened in front of her, the tenuous blades of light coming from its various windows joined by a brighter, warmer one from the door before it was closed and everything was again left surrounded in a halo of cold light. The presence of the massive man that was now inside, his expression one of trained unfriendliness, not in any way enough to drown the solitude of it all.

“You left Adrien _at school_?” Nathalie queried, stressing the words.

Moving away from the door, a look of uncertainty flashing through the dark eyes as he came to stop in the middle of the entrance, Adrien’s bodyguard gazed at her, questioningly.

“I know about yesterday, yes,” Nathalie told him, evenly, fingers drumming on the clipboard. And for a man that easily made three of her on muscle alone, it was amazing how the words threatened to knock him off his feet. “Adrien told me he _‘jumped out of the back seat.’_ ”

A discreet look towards the atelier door and the dark eyes returned to her.

“M. Agreste knows, but there were other—” Nathalie stopped, glancing at the step Adrien had been slumbering on yesterday, the shout of _“Father!”_ that still seemed to echo around her, the image of Adrien sinking into Gabriel’s chest that was still so clearly engraved on her mind, softening her expression when she continued. “There were more important matters to attend to. I believe it skipped his mind.”

An expression of relief answered her words. As much as she understood it, however, it wasn’t at all what Nathalie intended to accomplish right now.

“I know Adrien can be charming and that it makes him—” Nathalie looked at the atelier door, the right word coming to her mind the instant she thought of the man she had left inside. “Persuasive. But he is only fifteen. And on the present state of affairs—”

“The Butterfly,” Adrien’s bodyguard grunted immediately, his accent, normally so heavy his words where mostly unintelligible, now leaving her throat in a knot. “This morning already. Bull-thing running rampant in the streets.”

He seemed to notice Nathalie's confusion for he turned to the windows, helpful, and pointed outside. High over the nearest roofs.

“Giant hedges?”

“No, I—”

She hadn’t noticed _anything_. She had been busy inside the vault, going over half the archives, trying to call Adrien and struggling to find some way of keeping Gabriel from reaching critical mass before lunch was even served. Not that she had any hope of keeping him from doing so after that. Not with headquarters bent on making the already stressful situation with the rapidly approaching fashion show even worse by losing some of his works. That would be bad enough if he was in his normal state of mind. As volatile as he had become—

Nathalie shook her head.

No, whatever had gone down already truly didn’t matter right now.

“Keep Adrien within sight at all times,” she told the bodyguard, sternly. “Today for starters. He has some measurements to attend to. It would be good if he was _driven_ there.”

 _Provided that I can contact him_ , she told herself, reaching inside her jacket’s pocket to frown at the still very much empty display. She hadn’t got a call back. A message. Nothing to say Adrien had at least seen her multiple calls. This was not like him at all.

_What are you doing?_

Or better yet—

_Where is your phone?_

Walking towards the staircase, fingers flying over the list of contacts and hitting Adrien’s, Nathalie glanced outside, towards the two cars parked on the front courtyard and back to the muscular man still standing at the entrance.

“I will accompany the two of you to headquarters,” she told him. “That should make it easier for you to keep track of him.”

Nathalie raised one hand, silencing him before he could answer, and listening to the silence around her. Waiting. _Waiting_ —Both she and Adrien’s bodyguard raised their heads. What could be muffled music, making them look at the middle floor. To the door leading to Adrien’s room. They were marching up the stairs a moment later. The man stopping at the entrance as Nathalie opened the door and got inside. The music was louder here, and a quick look around—going over the many fencing posters, the sofa, the piano and the desk to finally stop at the unmade bed—rapidly told her why.

The phone. It was here. So much for calling Adrien.

“Call the school,” Nathalie ordered looking towards the door, then reached over the bed to pick the phone and disconnect her own call, the video immediately jumping to the forefront once she did, the grinning, masked man on it, making her heart jump.

“Mlle. Sancoeur.”

“Yes?”

“School won’t pick up.”

 _Of course not_ , Nathalie sighed, marching to the door, taking the phone from the bodyguard’s hand and calling the school, again, as if she doing it could possibly change things—Unsurprisingly, it didn’t.

 “You left Adrien at school?”

The chill to her question actually made Adrien’s bodyguard step back. Or maybe—Maybe that hadn’t been her at all. An enormous hand was rising to point at something behind her, there were shadows running across the floor. Nathalie turned just in time to see the sky go completely dark beyond the glass wall.

_Oh no…_

“Get to school,” she ordered, not missing a beat, fingers closing tighter over Adrien’s phone. “See what happened.”

She gave a last look to the room as he disappeared down the stairs, a glimpse of a class photograph on Adrien’s desk—right next to one of him with his mother—making her step back inside the room to pick it up, her attention going from Adrien, standing on the back row, to a tall boy in a red hat and from him to a petite shy-looking girl smiling on the front row.

Nino and Marinette. One of them had to know where he was. And exiting the room, she wished she had the heart not to care about how unkind both she and Gabriel had been to both of them. To pretend they weren’t the only ones amidst all of Adrien’s colleagues who had ever come to this house, alone and on his behalf. Today of all days she truly wished she lived up to her surname _and did not care._

Her heels echoed loud on the empty atrium as Nathalie rushed down the stairs, the ceiling lights painting the white marble in a warm yellow giving the house a very different atmosphere as she took her overcoat from the coat hanger at the back and stepped under the prematurely darkened sky, a last look towards the house, the roof and the observatory lying within making her hesitate before entering the car Adrien’s bodyguard had left behind.

No. She needn’t burden Gabriel with this. Not when she could still feel him shiver under her touch. Not when Adrien was more probably than not safe and sound. Not unless she couldn’t fix the situation herself.

And yet, despite her decision, seeing the gates close behind her, fear still found a way to her heart, making her press Adrien’s forgotten phone to her chest as she drove into the city.

She didn’t know what frightened her the most.

That she truly didn’t know where Adrien was—her attention slipped from the road to the video Adrien had left running, to Chat Noir as he twirled his staff, raising it to the approaching Hawkmoth's chest—

Or that Gabriel was right about Chat Noir and she would see Adrien—

_Soon enough._

 

#### Adrien

Honestly, some days were just a bit much, Adrien thought, his transformation collapsing just as he was about to land on the black roof under him, forcing him to roll on the moss covered tiles and grab for the nearest chimney, Plagg pulling on his sleeve, least Adrien lost his footing and fell all the way to the busy street.

“Sorry, couldn’t hold it anymore,” the kwami apologized, taking to float under Adrien’s chin, the strong smell of the cheese he had just been given making Adrien grimace when it reached his nose. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

If one could call having half his ribs stinging like crazy after being tossed against a moving bus by Hawkmoth’s latest victim ‘being fine’. Honestly, Adrien wasn’t that sure he wanted to see what this looked like when he got to the house, but then again as far as things that he didn’t want to see went, he was having little choice but having to stare at another one right in the face.

“Sure it is one of your cars?” Plagg queried, nibbling on the cheese, green eyes rising to meet his. “There are tons of black cars, you know.”

Shoulder going to rest against the chimney’s brickwork, peeking from behind it, Adrien squinted at the avenue beneath them, trying to see passed the naked trees flanking the street to one of the cars stuck on the long traffic line—a queue that paid tribute to the police blockage that had kept everyone from entering this part of Paris during Hawkmoth’s latest stunt.

“It’s one of the cars, alright,” Adrien groaned, attention on the vehicle he had caught sight of while running on the roofs to get to Marinette’s house. The tinted windows were enough of a giveaway without him being able to swear it was Nathalie behind the wheel. “I knew there was something wrong with the schedule!”

The traffic light turned to green as a strong gust of wind sending a shiver down Adrien’s spine. Turning away from the street below and the now moving traffic, the sound of the tree branches slapping against each other and the cars’ honking rising around him, Adrien got back to Plagg and his cheese—Well, or just Plagg. The cheese was gone.

“Ready?”

There was no way to know what Plagg had just answered. Not while speaking with his mouth _that_ full. But Adrien would assume it was a yes. For the sake of it. And for the sake of the car now breaking away from traffic, headlights running over the Dupain-Cheng’s window display and the pastry-carrying-clients getting out. For the about five seconds it would take Nathalie to disappear inside the bakery and for him to land, unseen, amidst Marinette’s terrace garden.

“At least, let me savor it!” Plagg whimpered when the transformation broke again, sad green eyes watching Adrien lift the heavy flower pot he had put over the trapdoor when pretending to have been caught amidst the latest attack. “My cheese…”

He made a grab at Plagg, fingers closing around him and shoving him inside his shirt, then he opened the trapdoor, Nino’s worried—

“Adrien, dude, that lady—!”

—rising from inside Marinette’s pinkish room, turning into a yelp of fright and a scramble for cover when Adrien dropped from the trapdoor, falling almost on top of his best friend who, in all honesty, he hadn’t noticed was standing just underneath.

“Sorry, Nino!” Adrien blurted out, reaching out to pull Nino off the floor and back to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Are you _insane_?” Nino said and gazed up, towards the trapdoor standing high over the unmistakably feminine room the four of them had spent most of the morning and afternoon at. “You jumped from _there_?”

“I'm not insane just—”

Still stuck on being Chat Noir at this point as it seemed. And grabbing his school bag from Alya, one glance inside telling him she had gone to the trouble of packing all his things, Adrien was off, a heartfelt “Thanks!” being thrown at his two friends as he went down a second trapdoor, and then a stairway, then another, expecting to see Marinette somewhere down here and coming to a grinding halt upon almost ramming into Nathalie on the first floor landing.

“Quick,” she said, her stern, authoritarian tone seeming to take both the serenely smiling Sabine, who had been leading her inside, and the out of breath Marinette, who was running up the stairs from the bakery, by surprise. “You should have been at headquarters two hours ago.”

There was something to be said about how fast he could run under the right circumstances. Akumatized people. Being late for school. Being late for fencing. Being late _in general_. The way today was going, however, Adrien was probably set to break some kind of speed record.

“M. Agreste is deeply grateful that you let Adrien stay with you,” Nathalie said as Adrien jumped into the passenger seat, tossing both his school and fencing bag being inside, sit belt rapidly put on, Nathalie herself going around the car as Plagg made a dive for the bags. “I understand school has been cancelled after one of those butterflies transformed someone on the premises. If I had known—”

Wrapping a shawl over the pinkish Cheongsam she was wearing, black hair being ruffled by the increasingly strong wind, Sabine shook her head, standing on the sidewalk, her husband, a batch of recently baked croissants on his hand, peeking over the heads of their costumers from the window display behind her.

“It was no trouble,” she said, leaning over the window and giving a gentle smile to Adrien. “We like having him here.”

The bakery’s door was tossed open, bell ringing as it did, a warm, mouth watering smell of the pastries and cakes getting outside alongside his running friends. That same moment, Adrien was staring, his confusion on seeing them dash across the sidewalk growing exponentially when, in a chaos of bags and coats, Nino, Marinette and Alya jumped into the backseat, put on their seatbelts and waved at him.

“What are you—?”

Nathalie too was closing her door, putting the card-key into its socket, blue eyes turning to Sabine who was still leaning next to the window, attention on the trio on the backseat.

“Are you sure about this, Mlle.—?”

“Sancoeur,” Nathalie finished for Sabine, a note of weariness to her voice. “I will get your daughter and the rest of them back home after we are finished. You don’t have to worry.”

The car growled softly as she hit the ignition button, looking through the rear view mirror to his friends and back to Sabine.

“Rest assured they won’t be a problem.”

The car joined the traffic, going by the Notre Dame and from there heading towards the modern part of the city. The Seine being left behind them. Crowd filled streets going by the windows. The piano aria coming from the radio—a reminder of whom this car was meant to belong to—giving it all a curiously tranquil atmosphere despite Adrien’s present state of nerves. Still, it wasn’t until the wrought iron butterfly embellishing the best part of an approaching building’s glass façade was in view—the lights being turned on inside offering a rare glimpse to the people working there—that Adrien gathered enough courage to speak.

“How is Father?” he queried, turning towards Nathalie just as her fingers hit the turn indicator stalk and she took the car passed headquarters. “Is he angry?”

“He doesn’t know.”

Adrien blinked, vaguely aware of the small side street they were at, of the buildings going by them and his friends’ attentive looks.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“He has enough on his mind.”

There was something in her tone—something… Nathalie had cut him off before Adrien could understand what it was.

“What were you doing?” she queried, the backstreet leading to the building’s underground parking opening around them as she brought the car to a halt near a pedestrian crossing.

“Homework?” Adrien offered, looking at the back seat for support. “Also, we ate. Watched a movie—”

Nathalie glanced at him, then at his friends through the rear view mirror.

“All at once?” she queried, shrewdly, eyebrows raised.

“It was fun.”

“Loads of fun!” Alya and Nino joined in from the back seat, enthusiastically.

“We still managed to get to some video-games, afterwards,” Adrien continued, all three of them pointed at the smiling, if silent, Marinette. “She won!”

Nathalie's expression was inscrutable. For a moment, it had almost seemed like she might share their smiles. But even if it was really so, it was never more than a ghost and it faded, leaving nothing behind.

“Wallet.”

Adrien leaned forward, opening the glove compartment to reach for the wallet he knew was inside, the phone tumbling to his hand when he did so, leaving him staring as he gave the wallet to Nathalie.

“This is mine.”

“It was in your room,” Nathalie clarified, bringing the car to a stop near the entrance to the underground parking, identification being taken from the wallet and extended to the already approaching security guards. “I told M. Agreste that you arrived here on time. He believes you have been here for several hours.”

Adrien raised his eyes from the phone, a sting of disappointment burying itself on his heart. He hadn’t even known he had been hoping Father was here. But he had been, he could hear it in his voice.

“He stayed home?”

“Fortunately,” Nathalie sighed, returning her wallet to Adrien. “I wouldn’t have been able to keep this up for even a moment if he had decided to do your measurements himself— _Please, put that away._ ”

Nathalie’s suddenly brisk tone made Adrien glance over his shoulder, a single look at the back seat showing him Alya pointing her camera to the black butterfly embellishing the now opening underground parking door, a look of utter confusion in her face.

“I won’t film anything important,” she guaranteed, nevertheless dropping the lens. “I know what confidentiality is.”

 _Yeah…_ Adrien grimaced. He didn’t doubt Alya did. She was not remotely the problem here. But his friends being here had come so out of nowhere, he had totally forgotten to warn them about—Ah… _certain things_.

“Sorry, it is not about that. It’s just—” He gave Alya an apologetic smiling. “ _Something_ happened and now _Gabriel_ —the brand, not Father—has this zero-tolerance policy with the press.”

He should probably have put it some other way. Alya’s curiosity had clearly been raised. She was wearing that expression she had on every time she caught a Ladybug scope for her blog.

“Why?” she queried, sincere interest in her voice, the camera being turned off. "Your father is in _haute couture,_ isn’t he? Doesn’t he need the press?”

Marinette moved uncomfortably on the middle seat, the way she leaned over Alya and whispered _“I will tell you later”_ to her ear, making Adrien massage his neck and return to Nathalie. Her eyes had grown cold to the point Nino was actually looking uncomfortable, pressing himself against the car door as if trying to get out of view. It made it all the more amazing how Alya could remain so unflustered as she finally remembered to return the camera to the bag.

“Thank you,” Nathalie said, the rather mechanic note to the word telling it was but a formality, a way to bide time as she maneuvered the car down to the garage, eyes going back to the rear view mirror. To study his friends. To ponder. Then, finally seeming to make a decision, Nathalie parked the car on its reserved spot and turned on her seat, to face the trio behind her.

“There was a problem this morning,” she informed, managing to say not much at all. “Things will be a bit on edge inside. If M. Agreste chooses to enter a video call at any moment, whatever you think of him—” At this point, her attention stopped at Nino. “I would ask for you to keep it to yourselves. He doesn’t need to hear it. And none of you can tell him something he doesn’t already know.”

The _something_ to her words was back. This time it made Adrien’s stomach sink right through the floor, concern making him search Nathalie’s expression.

“Father is fine, right? He is not in a bad day?”

Nathalie pressed her lips, moving to get out of the car without answering, the door closing behind her leaving the four of them struggling to get out of the seatbelts and their seats fast enough to join her.

“What did that mean?” Nino even so asked, receiving shrugs from both girls and then turning to Adrien, their footsteps echoing loudly in the grayish underground parking. “What is a ‘bad day’?”

Half jogging to catch Nathalie next to the elevators, Adrien shrugged the question away. Honestly, he didn’t want to explain this. He wasn’t that sure they would understand. He wasn’t that sure he himself did and was doing little but accept something Nathalie had told him more than a year ago, while he waited, sitting on the stairs, for father to be home for the first time without mother.

_“Remember he lost someone too.”_

Her words were as clear as if they were being spoken now.

_“Some days will be better than others.”_

Adrien dropped his eyes as they finally caught up to Nathalie. He knew she had meant it kindly. That she had been trying to help. He couldn’t blame her for not knowing father needed to hear it too.

“Can I trust you?” she was asking now, blue eyes on them, the car doors locking as she pointed the key-card at it. “All of you?”

A vigorous nod was given to her and they stepped into the lift, a key being inserted into the keypad making it rush non-stop to the top floor, where it stopped with a slight jerk. They got out, Adrien's friends following behind him and Nathalie as they marched down a long and silent corridor, going passed snake plants and water dispensers, the grayish walls covered with photos from several past collections going by them until Nathalie stopped next to a door.

“In here. Your tailor should be—”

They stopped just a few steps upon entering, Marinette, Alya and Nino still outside. The city had opened in front of them, shining magnificently under the rapidly darkening sky, the lights, turning on one by one, giving them their welcome as they shone beyond the window wall and then fading, overpowered by the ones turning on inside.

The fitting room was one Adrien had stepped into more times than he could remember. Black and white and with a small sitting area close to the window, mirrors covering all other walls. In the center, a small round platform on where to stand during measurements stood out, as well as a fitting room on one of the corners. On the whole it was a wide room, comfortable, but above all—

_Empty._

“Where is everyone?”

The door squealed behind them, starting to close as if on its own accord, clicking in place in one ominous motion and leaving his friends outside.

“Where were you?”

Nathalie went pale. A deep voice—an all too familiar voice—coming from behind them, leaving both she and Adrien staring at the reflection in the window, at the man standing behind them, Nathalie’s quiet “M. Agreste” getting itself all tangled on Adrien’s guilt-filled “Father!” as they turned, to find him leaning against the wall right next to the closed door, their utter inability to say anything else of value visibly making Father grow harsher.

“Where were you?” he demanded to know, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, his eyes seeming today more alive than usual. “Both of you.”

Adrien glanced at Nathalie for help, finding her attention running up and down father’s face, back going straighter when he again talked.

“I am waiting.”

“There was a problem," Nathalie stammered.

“A problem,” Father repeated eyes on hers, the shiver to that word, making it sound like his voice was about to break, rapidly buried under an icy note. “And all of a sudden your solution is to take the car and disappear entirely instead of talking to me? What can possibly have taken you the entire day?”

Nathalie dropped her eyes, the blue ones that had been on hers immediately turning towards Adrien.

“And you—” he said, and for how collected he sounded, Adrien would have preferred he shouted. “I have received a call, from your school, saying classes were cancelled. I truly thought I would find you here—Instead I get _missed appointments_.”

Father pulled himself from the wall with that, marching across the room.

“I have understood by now you have an open disregard for rules, Adrien, but there are such things as responsibilities. Trying to sneak out the house, jumping out of the car, that I have learned to expect, but _this_?” He stopped next to the window, back turned to both of them. “What got into you not to wait for someone to pick you up? What can possibly justify—?”

“Father—”

He wanted to apologize. He truly had meant to do ti. And then Adrien heard himself speak. And it was anything but that.

“You are not blaming me— _us,_ for Hawkmoth, are you?”

There was a moment where time itself seemed to have stopped and the three of them stood in place. Nathalie getting her attention off the floor to stare wide-eyed at him. Father, in his light blue suit, looking like he, Adrien, had just poured a gallon of freezing water on him. Adrien himself barely able to believe what he had just said, but above all he couldn’t— _he just couldn’t!_ —believe Father!

“You were blaming us for Hawkmoth,” Adrien pointed out, crossing his arms, and there was more than just a hint of accusation on his voice as he tried to face Father through the reflection. “How is any of his mess our fault? If Nathalie got stuck on traffic ‘the entire day’ it was Hawkmoth's fault. And he was the one who got school cancelled. I would have been there and here on time if we hadn’t gotten a Minotaur instead of our teacher—”

Nathalie seemed to have just regained the ability to speak. If not exactly to emote.

“A Minotaur?”

“Yeah.” Adrien turned to her now. “It came with this Paris-sized labyrinth. It also got half the school lost while trying to get to _Le Tour Eiffel_.” Nathalie’s eyebrows were raised. “I know it’s far but it was the only thing we could see and we couldn’t stay at school with that there, could we? Anyway, I think the hedges moved or something because when it was over we were all on the other bank of the Seine.”

His attention jumped back to Father’s reflection. There was not much—if anything at all—to his expression.

“It is all over the news,” Adrien told him. “You can both see it if you missed that huge mess in the morning. Also, lots of people got lost. M. D’Argencourt included. He went all the way to the _Philharmonie_.”

This got a reaction out of Father. More than one actually. He was turning. Eyebrows raised. Clearly not working this one out.

“Yeah, we have been all wondering how he got all the way across the city too,” Adrien sighed. “Anyway that got fencing cancelled.”

There was silence for a moment. One where him and Father stood looking at each other, none knowing what to do. Then Father pressed his lips.

“That was— _unfortunate_ , son.”

He sounded apologetic. For some weird reason.

“It’s not your fault,” Adrien sighed, gathering his courage. This truly would have been easier if had just apologized to Father and weathered the rest of the storm. He might have just made it all worse to be honest. “And it’s not Nathalie’s fault I missed my appointment. Or the traffic’s. I forgot my phone.”

Adrien had expected an explosion. A second speech on being responsible. Being grounded was also not entirely out of the equation come to think of it. What Adrien didn’t expect was the silence and the forcibly calmer, if still strict tone, in which Father’s initial question was repeated.

“Where were you?”

“Marinette’s parents.”

That on Father's face—That was relief, right?

“They are the closest ones to school,” Adrien explained feeling suddenly emboldened. “We fled there when that dome thing Ladybug does that fixes everything got rid of the Minotaur and the labyrinth.”

To think he had actually managed to mostly stick to the truth while telling this.

“Nathalie just picked us up.”

“Us?!”

Okay! That could have come out differently! Or rather it should have not come out at all! And worse?! Father was already on the move! Marching for the door to toss it open before him or Nathalie or God for that matter, could stop him. The sequence of—

“Hi!”

“Yo, dude—I mean, Sir!”

“Good afternoon, M. Agreste”

—hitting Father in quick succession when Adrien's three friends appeared standing in line just outside, making Adrien and Nathalie trade a tense glance. No, this truly was not the best way to announce they were here. This was actually not a way at all! But—

_Fortune favors the bold, right?_

“Can they stay, Father?”

Well, not all bold. Definitely not Adrien Agreste bold. There was a ‘no’ coming. He could see it already on Father’s expression. In the way his eyes kept going over his friends, harsh, disapproving and increasingly cold. He was having none of this. And Adrien was dropping his gaze, Nathalie putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Can I say goodbye to them?”

It was better like this. For him to put an end to it before Father took upon himself to do just that and his friends got an even worse impression of him than they already had. Not that Adrien knew why he cared that they did. But he had wanted—He truly had wanted them to like Father. To not be just him and Nathalie. To—It didn’t matter. Adrien was stepping forward, putting on a smile, Nathalie’s fingers closing tight over his shoulder stopping him on his tracks when Father looked back, at the two of them, and everything Adrien had been so certain he was about to say burned before his eyes.

“Come on in.”

_W-What?_

His friends were stepping inside and—Adrien could have hugged Father. He would have hugged him if his friends weren’t here. He almost did anyway when despite his open displeasure with having allowed _any of this_ , Father still stopped Marinette as she entered the room, putting the measuring tape he had had over his shoulders on her hands.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Adrien didn’t think Marinette’s eyes could get any wider. She stood there gazing at the tape as if she had been given some priceless treasure, voice filled with wonder.

“Really?”

“Unless, you don’t want to.”

“No! I do! I just—” She raised her gaze to Father, voice dropping as if for a confidence. “I have never done this before?”

“Am I expected to answer that?”

A knock on the open door spared Marinette the need to answer that snappish reply. Watching Father disappear, closing the door between them and whoever was outside, Adrien stepped away from Nathalie, leaving her arm to silently fall away from his shoulders, and going to stand with Marinette and his friends, eyes pleading.

“Father is just messing with you,” he said, glancing at the closed door. “He wasn’t serious.”

“I don’t know, dude, he sounded prickly as hell,” Nino muttered as the girls looked at each other and Marinette went to twist the measuring tape between her fingers.

“Are you sure?” she asked, uneasy.

Adrien actually _wasn’t_. He had no idea. He didn’t know Father to know that. But—

“Yeah. Please, _please_ don’t take it the wrong way?”

 _Please don’t hate him_ , was what that had sounded like, but before Marinette could answer Father was back, the door slamming behind him, an irritable—

“Invest in a safe.”

—being thrown Marinette's way, before he actually minded his surroundings and found he had stepped right into the middle of the circle of Adrien's friends. Who were all looking up. Expectant. And at him.

“What are you all still doing _here_?” Father snapped, a moment of uncertainty giving rise to a tone such that Alya, Marinette and Nino went to stand as straight as if they were at a military parade. “You two center of the room.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You two **_out_** of the way.”

“Yes, Father—I mean dude! I mean Sir!”

Adrien traded a quick glance with Marinette as she followed him to the center of the room, Father’s attention still lingering on a squirming Nino as a playfully saluting Alya pulled him to the relative safety of the sitting area, making Adrien sigh.

Either this turned out to be brilliant or a complete disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on the second part!


	3. Medusa - Part 2

#### Gabriel

“I think I got it,” the girl— _Marinette—_ whispered, the uncertainty to her voice making Gabriel step back for a pair of minutes, arms crossed and frowning, before actually leaving her to her own devices and the other half of a jacket he had pinned together in the way of explanation. A half-a-jacket, Gabriel was surprisingly curious to know if she could replicate.

“You will tell me if I prick you, right?” he heard her asking, taking some pins from the box on the support table and holding them between her teeth, still studying Gabriel’s work. “It won’t be on purpose.”

“I know, don’t worry.”

It was like hearing Adrien’s voice had reminded her of who exactly was under the black fabric she gazed so intently at. She looked up, face flashing red, the following stuttering and nervous arm waiving leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes and step away from the scene. Or, at least, try to. His wrist exploding with pain forcing him to bite down a sharp intake of breath as he turned back to the duo behind him, face empty of expression, to find Adrien smiling up at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly, a squeeze being given to Gabriel’s fingers before he let go.

The gesture, the smile, caught Gabriel so off guard he was still looking back as he stopped on a discreet corner of the room, feeling mesmerized. At least, until Marinette stepped back in sight and he _remembered_. Gabriel’s mind immediately sharpened, leaving him to think, to ponder, to weight—Nathalie coming to stand with him, finally bringing him back.

“That was kind of you,” she told him and he might have chuckled at how wrong she was if she was at least _looking at him_. “To let them stay.”

“It had little to do with kindness and a lot with you glaring.”

“I am glad I could be of help.”

Still, her eyes avoided him, fleeing to the center of the room and the duo standing there—the girl trying to redo the steps on how to close a sleeve, Adrien taking to speak with the two sprawled on the chairs.

“Is she that good?” Nathalie queried, watching the girl’s determined struggle. “Marinette?”

“She is talented.”

And the girl would go far if given the opportunity. If she was not ripped apart by the critics or the _press_. Not that he could conceive why this was any the matter right now. It wasn’t as if her talent was the reason he had set her aside from the group in the first place.

“I can’t be the only one seeing it.”

Nathalie frowned, studying the pair in the center of the room. He could see the exact moment the word “Ladybug” flashed through her mind, comprehension leaving her with eyebrows raised.

“That—That _girl_?”

“You have to agree it’s an uncanny resemblance.”

And put close to his son like this—He watched as she moved around him, completely focused on her work. Yes, he felt he had seen this a hundred times before.

“This can’t just be a coincidence.”

Nathalie was frowning, squinting, whatever was so wrong to her eyes unclear to his.

“You had seen her before,” she finally said, still not sounding like herself. “During the contest. You talked with her. You didn’t find anything odd then.”

“Well—” His voice hissed with anger. “If I am to be forced into this arrangement by you I might as well find something now!”

He could feel Nathalie recoil at his side, the cold façade crumbling, the underlining current of panic making the Miraculous pulse against his chest as she turned her eyes to him, nervous, to find herself faced, not with fury, but an annoyed look.

“That wasn’t funny,” she threw at him, glaring back.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny.”

“With your sense of humor one never knows.” She took a deep breath, getting her composure back. “It was not my intention to worry you.”

“It was not my intention to force you to apologize, just to get your eyes **_off_** the floor,” he snapped. “The last thing I need is you walking on eggshells.”

Nathalie blinked, lips parting, but he interrupted her before she could speak.

“And I am not angry at you. Adrien made it quite clear who I should aim that at.”

“He—” There was guilt to her voice now. “We scared you.”

Gabriel’s fingers drummed on the wall behind him. The answer was ‘yes’ if she truly wanted to know. But he didn’t need to be reminded. Of any of it. Not of how empty the house had felt when he had stepped out of the atelier. Not of Nathalie not answering when he had called her. Not of Adrien not being anywhere he could reach him. Not of that gripping terror that had swallowed him with Nooroo’s very ill advised choice of words.

_“They are gone.”_

His attention slipped back to the center of the room. To his son as he chuckled at something one of the other kids had said. He still expected him to shatter. For all of this to shatter. Like the rest of his life had. And he would be forever grateful that Nathalie understood it without him having to speak.

“Is this about the book?” she was asking, softly, distracting, calling his attention to something he could occupy his mind with. “Marinette bringing it to you?”

“You have to agree it is odd.”

“But not condemnatory,” she pointed out, voice carefully lowered. “You have said ‘they’ can change physical attributes.”

His eyes never left the center of the room, but he was no longer seeing it, a memory having overrun the space and left a specter standing with him instead, that of a woman in a long blue dress, a peacock feather fan on her hands. Emilie’s golden ghost turned dark.

“She was lying, wasn’t she?” Nathalie asked, going to nudge her head at the center of the room, puzzled, when she saw him tense at her side. “Marinette. About how she got the book.”

“Half a lie, I gather. But she did keep it.”

And he wondered why. And in wondering there was only one reason he could think of. Only one that made sense.

“You aren’t convinced,” he pointed out, watching Nathalie by the corner of his eyes. “Why?”

“She is hardly the only person fitting Ladybug’s description,” she offered, sensibly, and looking at her pale blue eyes and black hair Gabriel had to force himself to remain silent. One off that list, he gathered, going back to listening. “Furthermore that girl—she is a bundle of nerves.”

It was as if the universe itself had decided to drive her point across. The very tranquil, painless “Auch” coming from his son so startling Marinette she ripped a sleeve off him, ending up giving equally horrified looks to Gabriel—as he raised his eyebrows at her—Adrien—as he tried to calm her down—and the fabric as it laid on her hands.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed this before.

Yesterday. On the fashion contest she had won, even.

She owned nothing to her nerves.

The other girl, Alya, the one from the Ladyblog or whatever that was called, the one who had the gall to be copying the homework she had just finished onto both his son’s and Marinette’s notebooks _right under his nose_ —he would overlook that, _just this once_ —was closer to what he had expected. Confident. Brazen. With none of that simple charm her friend had in spades.

Her friend who looked so much like that damned bug.

“It can be a coincidence,” Gabriel finally gave in, attention back on Adrien. A part of him did little but wish it to be so. That he was wrong. And yet—

“He is a lot like his mother.”

Nathalie’s silence as she looked between him and Adrien, lead him to continue.

“I was always so grateful, that he was nothing like me.”

“If he was—” Nathalie put forth, quietly. “Would it be that that bad?”

Marinette was still trying to reattach the sleeve, her struggle to reach Adrien’s shoulders making him look around, a quick _“Give me a second,”_ seeing him jogging towards the pair near the window, drop behind the chairs to pick something up and reappear with a small stool.

“He is wonderful, isn’t he?” Gabriel said, fondly, watching as Adrien offered the stool to the girl and Marinette immediately climbed on it, putting the pins randomly into the sleeve, even now just high enough to be on eye level with him. “I didn’t notice him getting that tall.”

 _“Is that the only thing you haven’t noticed about me?”_ his son’s voice threw at him from inside his memory and the sadness he had kept so carefully hidden on hearing it the first time must have showed for Nathalie stepped closer, hand going to rest on his shoulder blade. It was one of the few things that felt real, right now. That made sense. Her warmth and the boy standing at the center of the room.

_He is taller than you now, Emilie._

Adrien raised both his arms, giving the black haired girl in front of him a playful smile when the left one become stuck half the way up and she bit her lips, moving one finger in a circular motion to tell him to turn, seemingly refusing to step down from the stool.

_You might want to take a page from that girl’s book._

Emilie would have smacked him on the back of the head if she was here to hear that. A part of him still braced itself for it even if he knew it would not come. That he wasn’t to see her stroll to the center of the room, to Adrien, and bump the two of them together on their height too. Like she did with everything else, pretending they were alike and loving it.

Every moment of it.

She who was losing it all.

“I just need a moment.”

His back come to rest against the door, the lock clicking behind him leaving him standing in the empty corridor, listening to the muffled laughter coming from inside the room, barely able to breathe.

“Master?”

He swapped Nooroo away just as he left the jacket, much too aware of the kwami’s presence as he went to float between the nearest water dispenser and one of the many snake plants spread on the corridor. Watching over him. Fear and what could pass for concern battling on his face.

“That is Adrien?” he finally asked, glancing at the closed door, his tone one of gentle curiosity. “The Adrien from the drawing?”

“Shut up.”

He did. For once. Not that it was ever meant to last. And that Nooroo’s next words were spoken in kindness, that they lacked even the slightest trace of mockery, of the spite he had hoped to catch, to pick apart, to make his own, made them all the more painful to hear.

“He looks like her.”

 _I know_.

There was a feeling of warmth on his shoulder when he closed his eyes, the weight telling him Nooroo had just gathered his courage and landed there.

_I know he looks like her._

It had always been so. From the very first moment. He couldn’t look at one without seeing the other. It used to reassure him. It used to comfort him. It used to. Now it was a reminder that he couldn’t remember Emilie’s voice anymore. That he couldn’t remember her laughter—

“Master—”

That he couldn’t _remember._

“Please, go back inside.”

She was gone.

“They are all waiting for you.”

And he was losing what little he had left of her.

“Please, Master, you aren’t fine.”

The low rumbling of laughter made Nooroo flinch, eyes dropping in resignation as Gabriel stepped away from the door and he was called, the lonely white butterfly that had been on the closest snake plant taking flight to land on his gloved fingers.

Gabriel wouldn’t have been able to stop himself, even if he wanted to.

#### Adrien

“Isn’t that screaming or something?” Adrien asked, his and Marinette’s triumphant high-five over the now reattached sleeve leaving the two of them with their arms stretched high over their heads, the tip of her fingers slipping distractingly between his as she tilted her head, listening, then turning to him, their arms falling back to their sides.

“I don’t hear anything.”

They made him blink her words, then look around at Alya and Nino, on the sitting area near the window, and Nathalie, alone and holding one arm against herself, eyes cast down.

“Can’t any of you hear _that_?”

All three turned their attention to him, following his gesture as he pointed at the floor, then looking at each other, confused, Adrien’s last resort for _someone_ to hear the screams that were so clear to him falling to nothing as he looked around. There was one face missing.

“Where is—?”

 _Father_ , become lost in just about a second, the alarms starting to echo just outside the room, blasting all over the top floor with a vengeance, sending all three of his friends and himself—fighting to take off the jacket and falling behind on purpose so that Plagg could dash out of his bag to get to him—running after Nathalie as she marched for the door.

“Stay there.”

She turned the knob. Her stern order clearly not meant for herself for she stepped outside. Alone. Determined. Looking around as the alarms blared. Her blue eyes flew over the water dispensers and snake plants, the lifts in the distance, the doors on both sides of the corridor, the fire escape, before she turned back to find all four of them with their heads sticking outside.

“With me,” she ordered, stopping them before they could jump back inside to fetch their bags. “Leave those here, you won’t need them.”

Green, blue and two pairs of brown eyes looked rapidly at each other. Apprehension flashing through all of their faces as they took to follow Nathalie down the corridor and into the fire escape. Feeling her hand close around his—so tightly she seemed to fear he would disappear into thin air—Adrien found himself walking right beside her, a glance over the bright yellow handrail and into the squared shaped hole in the center of the winding stairs, letting him glimpse a cascade of people getting out from the floors, moving to get to the lobby and outside, before he returned to Nathalie still on time to see her grab her phone, fingers rapidly moving down the contacts to hit father’s picture.

He could hear the call disconnect without even getting through. It made his stomach twist.

“Where is Father?” he asked, trying to sound calm. “Why isn’t he picking up?”

“He left to speak with his legal team.”

That—That was no answer. That was no answer at all!

“Where is he _now_?”

A loud shriek cut through his words. People were running out of the metal door on the landing right in front of them, getting into the stairs, screaming, crying—the reason for their panic made clear the moment the fourth floor door was impaled by a spear-like thing and him and Nathalie came to such a grinding halt they both slipped. Adrien ending up one hand clinging to the handrail and sprawled on the stairs, Nathalie lying further down still and almost on the landing, her hand still holding on to his, eyes gazing at the door as the spear was viciously pulled and it slammed shut, the panic bar moving up and down from the other side, knocking and screaming being heard—until they were no more.

“Run,” Nathalie told them, letting go of Adrien’s hand. “All of you, now!”

They would not wait for her to say that twice. They run down the stairs, jumping over the golden spear and into the crowd, all stopping to wait for Nathalie only to be nudged into continuing for she hadn’t been that far behind. They were moving with the crowd now, down the stairs to the third floor then the second, the shrieks coming from up above turning into screaming from the crowd trying to flee when the door they had left behind was ripped from its socket, clanging and crashing into the floor above as the people around them pushed and pulled in what seemed to be an endless descent, the atrium, the street finally opening before them promising safety from all the madness—

If Adrien wasn’t Chat Noir.

And he had to transform. He had to find some way to get away from Nathalie and his friends now that they had seen him safe on the street. That spear back there? If he had any doubts of what was going on before, that had been telling enough! This was Hawkmoth again and for the third time today.

If only Nathalie wasn’t holding his hand. Or if this had been his bodyguard with them and not her! He had no trouble leaving him behind. But Nathalie? There was never anything that got passed her!

“Where is Marinette?”

The group looked around just as it left the building, glancing back to the lobby, then to the people around them, the crowd’s pushing and shoving pulling them alongside it as more and more people tried to force their way out of the building, wheeling them across the sidewalk and into the road. They could see passed the black butterfly from here, even if it was still hanging menacingly over them. The lights behind it allowing to glimpse those still trapped inside, despite the crowd already here.

It wasn’t to any of that they were looking, however. Nor was it at the cars forced to stop in the road due to the people standing in their path. Nor the dozens of terror filed faces around them.

No.

They were looking for a head of raven black hair. They were looking for their friend.

“She was right behind me!” Alya said, the sea of people around them barely allowing any of them to search more than one meter in all directions. “I saw her just now!”

“Now _when_?” Nathalie asked. “Where did you see her?”

“The stairs? Or the lobby… I—I thought she was behind me!”

The crowd was pushing again, forcing them back towards headquarters, closer and closer to the cars parked in front of it as if trying to flee from something other than Hawkmoth and his present victim. Looking back, seeing a series of vans squeal to a stop Adrien understood from what.

The press.

It had already caught wind of this.

Nathalie’s hand pressed around his, her eyes also having found the vans and the cameras being unloaded one after the other, her expression hardening. And then something else called their attention. All their attentions. People were pointing up, the cameras rising. Adrien himself looking in time to see the red figure standing on one of the buildings thrown a yo-yo at the iron butterfly and with one easy move jump inside the building.

Ladybug.

_She is already here?_

And that Alya wasn’t taking her phone out spoke volumes about the present state of the group, all of them back to look around, all of them trying to find Marinette among the crowd, Nathalie herself going back to her phone, gazing at it before hitting father’s number again.

“Pick up.”

Adrien felt as if the ground had opened beneath him. The way her eyes lingered on the building instead of moving over the crowd, saying more than he had wished to know.

“Father is inside?!”

“Control Room.”

Oh, that was rich! And it sounded like him alright! Going around like he could control everything! Like—!

Again the shriek cut through his thoughts, deep and penetrating and so loud everyone around them was covering their ears, Nathalie one of the few remembering to look up towards the building just in front of them, her expression one of disbelief before she grabbed him, Alya and Nino and pulled them behind the nearest of the parked cars. Pressing them down and against it. Trying to cover them—not that she would have ever been able to do so if a much bigger shadow hadn’t forced the crowd to open and jogged to reach them, putting itself over them.

It made little difference in the end. Looking up, gazing through Alya’s brown curls and the car’s windows, Adrien could see perfectly what had alarmed Nathalie. The building's glass walls were vibrating under the shriek, moving back and forth in wider and wider arcs… The windows were going to break. No way could they move like that and remain intact.

And break they did. Cracking and snapping and then completely falling apart, glass cascading to the street, raining over them as people screamed and Adrien gazed at the black butterfly, the only thing left of the building’s former glory.

_I have to get in there!_

And he was trying to. He was fighting to rid himself of everyone that was pinning him to this spot. Not even thinking of Plagg. Or Chat Noir. Thinking only of—

“Adrien!”

Nathalie had managed to grab him, the hand that had pulled his wrist now moving to cup his face as he again stood with the group, back under the figure that had protected them and that he suddenly recognized as being his bodyguard, Nathalie’s eyes on his.

“Stay here.”

Another crash. The sound of more glass falling to the street. His eyes moved back to the building, Nathalie’s hand cupping his face harder forcing him back to her.

“I’m serious, Adrien. Stay. _Here._ ” Her attention moved to his bodyguard. “I’m contacting security. There is a kid missing.”

And she stepped away, a last stern look being given to his bodyguard, before disappearing through the crowd, leaving them to him. It was his chance. He could disappear from under his bodyguard’s watch while wearing a blindfold.

_I’m sorry, Nathalie._

He waited for his bodyguard’s attention to move the other way to take a single step back, then crouch and practically crawl through the crowd and away from him, fighting to move passed the sea of people and into one of the nearby alleys.

“That was odd,” Plagg uttered as soon as he got outside, looking back towards the crowd over a rubbish bin. “Nathalie was being odd, right?”

“She is afraid I will go back inside to search for Father.”

Which he had meant to do. Which he had almost done. Which he intended to do still!

He took his phone out of the pocket—empty, despite father’s reassurance just last night—and looked back at the ruined building.

 _Why do you always do this?!_ You _said you wouldn’t do this!_

“Adrien?”

“I have to find Marinette and Father.”

The staff was shoved into the ground, sending him high up into the air and on top of the nearest roof. Putting the staff over his shoulder, marching up to the other side of the building, while studying the broken windows in front of him, Adrien finally stopped at the third floor, movement inside making a broad grin appear on his face despite his inner turmoil.

Again he extended the staff, sending himself flying over the street and the pointing crowd and cameras. He fell inside the third floor, rolling, feet hitting a fallen table, his momentum causing it to turn and return to the right position, with him on top and a loud crash.

“Hello, _peekaboo_.”

He must have scared her half to death just now considering he was laying flat on his stomach a second later, the yo-yo having come close to hit his head.

“Don’t do that!” Ladybug reprimanded, pulling the yo-yo back and catching it. “You know you are late, kitty.”

“That kind of sums up my day, Milady,” Adrien chuckled, what little mirth he had been able to bring forth brought to an end as he took in his surroundings.

The interior of the building looked like a bomb had gone off. All of it was a ruin. Mannequins and ripped clothes lay amidst turned tables and broken sewing machines, but the weirdest of it all? He was standing in a forest of life-sized, very real looking statues.

“What happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Ladybug said, making the yo-yo circle at her side and looking around, vigilant. “It was like this when I arrived. No way they could be here before, right?”

Adrien jumped off the table. No, this had never been here. He knew this building well. It had been his playground from time to time. The only one he had known with his parents bent on not allowing him outside the house. And approaching the closest of the statues, that of a woman, trying to hide her face, her expression one of terror, he was left with a very uncomfortable sensation.

“Are these  _people?_ ” he muttered, a shriek coming from somewhere making him raise the staff immediately. “Was that—?”

“The new victim,” Ladybug finished. “It has been breaking every single mirror and window on the building.” She looked at the statue he too had been studying. “Guess it can petrify people too.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Glimpsed through a window when I arrived. When I turned it wasn’t there,” she said, attention back to him. “It’s this half-human, half-snake thing with—”

She never stood a chance of finishing.

“With snakes for hair? And gold wings?”

“How did you guess that?”

He hadn’t. And his face had lit up. A soft knock on the back of his mind, father stepping inside his thoughts with that guilt filled expression that meant he was sneaking some story to him that wasn’t exactly mother-approved, leaving Adrien standing in his room a lifetime ago, excitement sending him running towards father as he got to his knees, smiling, one hand reaching inside his waistcoat to take out a carefully folded sheet, one where he had drawn something.

_“I found something you might like.”_

He hadn’t sounded that confident. He had always sounded apprehensive when he said that and Adrien didn’t remember what his drawing had looked like, but angry as he still was at him for having disappeared, he remembered the story and he was grinning like mad.

“Does she look cool?” he asked, grabbing both of Ladybug’s hands and looking around. “She must look so cool!”

“ _She?”_   If she could have looked more confused. “I—I just saw her through a reflection, I didn’t see—”

“Good! Because looking at her is how everyone got like this!”

Ladybug looked around to the statues he was pointing at, eyebrows raised.

“How do you know that?”

“You know it too. Medusa?” She didn’t seem to know and he was looking around again. Like one big idiot. “Okay, rule number one. Mostly for me. Don’t look at her.”

Ladybug seemed to be stuck between trying to look serious and smiling. It was quite the expression on her he might say.

“You are really excited about this.”

“Are you kidding?  I always loved this myth and now I am in it!” He dropped his voice, leaning closer to her ear. “I actually always wanted the snakes and the turning people into stone powers,” he confided in her, stepping back to point at himself. “But Chat Noir is cool too, right?”

In the fight between being serious and smiling, smiling had just won. Ladybug chuckled.

“You’re great, kitty.”

“So what do we do, Milady?” he asked. “Ideas? How do we fight it?”

“You are the one who knows her.”

 _Oh, true._ But he was not the one who came up with the plans here. He was just good at putting her ideas into reality. And it would take him far longer than her to come up with something.

“So,” he started, massaging his neck. “Guess you just have to get a mirror or a shield out of your lucky charm?”

“Kind of not how it works,” Ladybug said, apologetic.

“Can’t harm to try.”

And if there was one thing he could say about her was that she did try. And it wasn’t a mirror or a shield that fell into her hands. No. It was a frying pan.

“About _that—_ ” Adrien muttered, seeing her turning it on her hands. “Considering Cataclysm is really straight forward. How does Lucky Charm work?”

“I am not sure I want to know.”

They stepped deeper inside the ruin that was the building’s interior. Walking by what seemed to be the same scene over and over again. Fallen mannequins. Ripped clothes. Turned tables. Broken sewing machines. The statues of those caught inside around them—Until something weird caught their sight. A slithering path cutting through it all.

“I think we got her,” he said, dropping to one knee near it, vision still clear despite the darkness. Judging by the piled up mess around them, the way it enclosed the space, this was some kind of lair. “We just have to drive her out.”

Because it was lying in wait by the looks of it. Which made sense. And it meant they needed something. Maybe a sound? Or—

“Chat?”

He had just found a mannequin between the piled up tables that seemed liable to take the entire thing down—a plan if would ever come up with one. But it was at Ladybug he was looking now, staring into her eyes as she stood behind him in the darkness, the thought that she didn’t belong there crossing his mind.

“About yesterday,” she said, making him raise his eyebrows. “I’m sorry we—No.”

Her expression became harsher, fingers closing tight over the yo-yo. This was probably the more serious she had ever faced him.

“I’m sorry **I** didn’t get Hawkmoth’s Miraculous. I saw the opportunity but I couldn’t move.”

He was still on one knee under her, looking up. Was she—Was she answering his question from yesterday? The one she had evaded? He couldn’t read her to tell, so he repeated it. And there was more Adrien than Chat Noir in the way he spoke.

“Were you hurt?”

“No. I just... I never meant to hurt _anyone_. I never wanted to hurt anyone. And I didn’t know that meant _him_ too.” She looked around, to the sea of petrified people. “Even when he is hurting everyone else.”

A headshake and she turned back to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Adrien tilted his head. Why was he getting the feeling she had been meaning to tell him this the entire day and had just worked enough courage now?

“Why are you apologizing? I’m not angry,” he said. He still sounded as far away from Chat Noir as possible. “Did I look angry?”

“I don’t think you are easy to anger, Chat.”

“Oh, but I am,” Adrien stated, lightly. He was utterly furious at father right now, to be honest. And concerned. Not a day had passed and he was back at more of the same! Keeping to himself! Disappearing off the face of the earth and not telling him anything! But none of those things were hers to deal with. So he bottled them up. Nobody needed to know anyway.

“Hey, freezing happens,” he finally said.

“It didn’t happen to you.”

Well no, but it was hardly the first time he hurt someone unintentionally. That was kind of bound to happen in fencing. One ill thought out movement and those sabers showed a lot of conviction in turning into whips. Also—

Adrien pointed at himself.

“Destruction, Milady?” he reminded her. “Probably got that Miraculous for a reason. Like—I’m the destruction to your creation.”

Something moved inside the lair in front of them. A low hiss amidst the darkness making them both return to the situation at hand, Ladybug dropping at his side, turning the frying pan so they both were looking at the reflection on it.

“Probably not a good time to tell you I am not a fan of snakes,” she said.

“You just have not to look at this one, Milady,” he said, pointing at the mannequin he had spotted earlier. “And get that out of there.”

And so she did. The yo-yo flying all the way to the blockage to wrap itself around the mannequin’s leg, a strong pull bringing the entire structure down, a loud hiss immediately rising in answer and so they were off. Or as off as they could be with a frying pan in their hands and backs turned to the fight. Which was going wonderfully well considering in the first five seconds he had already been sent flying against a table, a spear ripping through it making him roll to the side as Ladybug ran the other way trying to catch the frying pan they both had dropped and that was now rolling away.

First rule of being a Miraculous holder as it seemed? Having a good sense of humor. He doubted anyway could keep at this without one considering how some of these battles turned out. But seriously now, frying pan? They needed a mirror. Something easier to carry. It shouldn’t be that hard to find a mirror in here, or a piece of one. This was a fashion brand’s building for crying out loud! But the only thing he seemed to be able to find was fabric and useless stuff and broken ceiling lights, grids still hanging from the ceiling and—a figure.

A—A woman and she was walking right into the battle. He knew her. He—

_Nathalie?_

The Medusa-like victim had clearly seen her too. It was moving to attack. And he was running, grabbing Nathalie by the waist and tossing her to the floor just as the petrifying gaze was turned on her and a kind of invisible wire seemed to give a vicious pull to Medusa. He heard her crash to the floor. Saw the tip of a snake tail contorting in the air. The spear that she had been about to stab them with crashing into the ceiling instead.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” Medusa bellowed, trying to get back up, to reach the spear, the ceiling falling around her as Ladybug’s yo-yo hit her weapon and sent it all the way across the floor. “Keep out of this, Butterfly!”

Adrien was not staying here to know what _that_ was all about. He was getting up, pulling Nathalie behind him, through the destroyed floor and towards the fire escape. And all the way there he was scolding her.

“You shouldn’t be here! What were you thinking?!”

What was father thinking?! Unless he didn’t know about this, which meant she had gotten inside of her own accord and he would be scolding her all the way from here to the house. A pity that left no one to scold him! _Control Room!_ Why must he always be like this?!

“Get down there and outside!” he told Nathalie, letting go of her hand and pointing at the closed fire escape door he had just dragged her too. “You can’t be here! This is dangerous!”

He was turning his back on her already, bent on rejoining Ladybug, but next moment Nathalie had grabbed his shoulder, the soft pressure making him look back at her. For a moment, with her being here, it felt like being home.

“There is someone missing,” she told him and Adrien felt his anger—all of it, even the one at father—completely fall apart. That was why she was here?

“Who is missing?” he asked. He knew what she was about to say. But listening was the least he could do.

“There is this girl. About your age. Black hair. Blue eyes. Her name is Marinette.” Nathalie looked around, attention falling on the statues. “She must be somewhere inside.”

“I will look for her, okay? Get yourself to safety.”

A desk was sent tumbling down behind him and he was off, leaving Nathalie near the fire escape door. He wanted to look back, to make sure that she had heeded his order, that she was leaving, that she was safe before he went back to help Ladybug. He wanted to look back. He really, _really_ wanted to—

But he didn’t.

And so he never saw Nathalie standing there, or the way her eyes kept following him until he disappeared.

He didn’t see her hesitation as she looked at the destruction around her.

Or the moment she opened the fire escape door and came face to face with the broad shouldered man who was behind it all, who reached for her hand, gloved fingers intertwining with hers, and pulled her much in the same way Adrien had. Away from the fighting. Away from danger. Only this time under the watch of burning blue eyes.

 

#### Gabriel

“What were you _thinking_?!” Gabriel snapped, his and Nathalie’s footsteps echoing on the winding stairway as they moved down it, the shrieks and hisses and the unmistakable sounds of fighting above them. “How many times have I told you to hide?!”

A dash of red went by his left shoulder, his instinct reaction to defend himself making him raise the cane to counter the attack only to have his mind overrun by the battle on the top floor.

The bug had just come swinging at Medusa, the yo-yo’s cable—wrapped around one of the ceiling lights—sending her flying at her, eyes never leaving the frying pan she was carrying, bent, it seemed, at getting onto Medusa’s back and catch the necklace holding the akuma.

If that was her intention, however, she failed at it. Spectacularly. And Gabriel was grinning, eyes burning, watching as she did, the reflection she was using for guidance sending her not left but right and straight into Medusa’s reach, her tail whipping at the bug sending her flying, against the mannequins, tables, and everything that was broken in the floor. Not that it stopped her. Next moment, the bug was running, fleeing, back out of reach, without Medusa doing _something_.

The butterfly-shaped line lit around his eyes. The connection burning his mind as it was opened further and further.

“They won’t be confused _forever_ , Medusa,” he snarled at her, attention following the bug as she jumped behind a turned table. “Stop messing around and get those Miraculous!”

The connection snapped shut. Angrily. Violently. And as difficult as it was to move away from the turmoil feeding it and the akuma, he grabbed at this sensation of warmth, a careful pressure on his hand and pushed through until he was back at the fire escape, looking over his shoulder and scowling at Nathalie.

“What are you doing?” he demanded to know, eyes on the undisturbed bright blue ones raised to look up the stairs, then dropping to face him. “What got into your head to be here?!”

“I lost one of the kids.”

They came to such an abrupt halt she rammed into his back. The terror her words had given rise to making him turn on his heels, towards Nathalie, dreading what she might say, just as something darker pulled at that part of him that still was—and maybe had always been—the Collector, this deep feeling of betrayal invading his mind as the connection opened ever so slightly and he saw the cat.

He didn’t know what it was Nathalie was seeing, right now. If his fear or his fury. It mattered not. She was here. And she had always understood either way.

“Adrien is outside,” she informed, words making a shiver of relief go down his back, his eyes closing. “He is fine.”

“And your lost lamb?”

“Marinette.”

Nathalie would have crashed into his back again if they were still on the move. His eyes were on hers, searching them, probing them, trying to find an answer there.

“That girl…” His hand closed tighter over hers, a feverish urgency to his voice. “That was before or after the bug appeared?”

“Before.”

“Truly?” A nasty grin spread through his face. “So she does fit.”

The connection was ripped open again. On the other side, the destroyed floor was no longer in view. Instead, the open night sky was around Medusa, the city’s illumination shining under her as she slithered out of the building and onto the iron butterfly’s wings. The bug was under her and banging the pan against the metal. The cat taking advantage of the distraction it provided to drop from overhead, right hand seeming to be boiling.

It missed by inches. And they were both retreating now, the cat and the bug, a black and a red bolt, down and back inside the building through the broken windows, splitting once there, the mostly undisturbed floor seeing them disappear amidst the work stations, and mannequins and pined drawings of clothes.

“Leave Ladybug,” Gabriel ordered, icily, the bug distinctive red clothing appearing and disappearing behind the different stations’ divisions. “Concern yourself with Chat Noir. He has activated Cataclysm. It will initiate that Miraculous countdown when it hits something. Make sure it does. And get that ring the instant the transformation wears off.”

An irritated hiss was his answer. The nearest mannequin being whipped to the ground by a scaly tail. She was on the move again, dropping to slither close to the floor, going by table legs, and chairs and discarded pieces of fabric. Searching. Hunting—

“You know, keeping an eye on the sky is normally a good move,” a good-humored voice said from above. “You know, where the _cats_ are?”

It came to a matter of reaction. Of willpower against agility. A black figure dropping from up above making Gabriel shove the cane into Nathalie’s hands, then reach out for the akuma and twist Medusa out of the way just as the cat landed right where she had been, then strain the connection to reach out to grab his ankle, just like he had done the day prior, trying to keep him from fleeing. This time the cat didn’t fall for it, he escaped. And the connection became too strained to be kept, slipping through Gabriel’s fingers, as Medusa regained control over her body.

“Stop doing that, Butterfly!” she ragged, tossing her spear to the air and grabbing it before aiming it at the cat. It ripped through the table he had just dived behind, the alarmed **“Chat!”** coming from the opposite side of the room, giving away Ladybug’s present position, making the cat raise his arms.

“I’m fine!”

And he was jumping out of cover as if to prove it, using the staff to back-flip over Medusa and rejoin the bug.

“Found a mirror!”

The announcement made Gabriel clench his fists, watching them again flee, Medusa in pursuit.

A mirror.

“He knows. That cat knows.”

“Knows?” Nathalie’s voice came to him. He couldn’t see her. Her words were a mere whisper in his mind, but without the soft pressure of her hand one real enough to remind him he was not alone. Not this time. “What about?”

“Medusa. The cat knows about her.”

And how old was he anyway? Fourteen, fifteen? Was this common knowledge? Something of no value to be discarded? For he only knew of a fifteen year old who would know this.

“Your son is outside,” Nathalie said, calmly. “I left him there.”

And he had kept nothing of what he had been thinking to himself, as it seemed. Unsurprisingly. Such was the joy of this Miraculous of his. He couldn’t hear himself think over the connection and the images blasting inside his mind. Not unless he spoke. And the cat was not making Gabriel hear himself any the easier.

“No hard feelings or anything, I’m normally on your side!” the cat was shouting, running alongside Ladybug and gesticulating as if he could feel Gabriel’s derision through Medusa’s glare. “No, not yours! Hers!”

“Why are you telling them that?” Ladybug queried, flabbergasted. “Does she need to know?”

“How many times do you think I will meet Medusa— _Yikes!!_ ”

The spear had just been thrown at them, flying by as they rolled in opposite directions and Gabriel snarled at the entirety of the scene.

What was the problem with this feline?! Did he take pleasure on acting like an idiot?! On being seen as one?! This was ridiculous! This—

_This is not you, cat! You had claws yesterday!_

And the feeling of betrayal was taking hold of him again, burning like a festering wound. Was this Adrien? Was it liable to be him with this behavior? He would expect better of him than this silliness, this utter nonsense! This was not the quiet boy he saw from time to time. It was not the one who once used to fill the house with laughter. The one he had known. The one who had came running to him, chuckling and smiling, and tossing his arms around his neck to look with pure delight at whatever he had been doing. The one—The son he missed dearly, even if he was no longer a father he could run to anymore.

“When you say _outside_ —” Gabriel growled, speaking to his side, to Nathalie, now a blue-eyed smear in his vision. “Who exactly is there?”

“His bodyguard.”

Oh yes, speak of reliability made flesh.

“I hired that man because he can fight his way through a crowd, not for his intellectual brilliance. Adrien could run circles around him when he was three. _Now?_ ” he fumed, Nathalie was becoming clearer, steadfast and composed and undisturbed by his ongoing rant. “And you say somehow that girl managed to run passed you?”

“If she is Ladybug, she did a brilliant job. Both of disappearing and pretending to be arriving,” she acquiesced, the shriek echoing behind her words, making the building shake, seeing her stern tone become kinder. “But if she isn’t Ladybug? If she is here? Trapped inside with that thing?” she pointed out. “She is Adrien’s age. She is his friend.”

Her eyes had never left his, never wavered. They didn’t even as he spoke.

“You say that like it should make a difference. Like I care.” he observed. There was an honest bewilderment to his words. More honesty to his rebuttal. “I don’t.”

“You will.”

She had more faith in him than he ever would.

“I didn’t attack that girl,” he heard himself say, a rare calm to his voice. “Unless she is that bug, she is either well hidden or not here at all.  And I would prefer for you not to be here either—”

There was a sudden pull at his mind. Urgent. Anxious. Alarmed. He would have hated Nooroo even more for the interruption, for daring to interfere, if it wasn’t for what he showed him. He was pulling Nathalie behind him the next moment, ripping the sword out of the cane she was carrying just as Medusa’s spear blasted through the door and he was forced to defend himself.

“Go up!”

The spear sank into the wall on the opposite side of the stairs, shaking in place as he grabbed at the connection again, the stairway disappearing as he moved to follow Nathalie, and for a moment, seeing through Medusa’s eyes he could make no sense of what she thought she was doing for she was outside. Going up the iron butterfly and into the top floor. The doors being thrown down one after the other.

Storerooms. Fitting rooms. Offices.

Empty. Empty. EMPTY.

Where was that—?!

A last door was broken down. The one to the room he had been in prior with Nathalie and the kids. Inside, the cat was moving away from the bags, feet making the broken glass snap as he stepped backwards towards the window, eyes firmly closed, a step too many making him lose his balance and look down. The city lights were behind him. His right hand still boiling from Cataclysm.

“Where is Ladybug, Medusa?” Gabriel bellowed. Where was that bug?! “Search for her!”

She turned, tail crashing on top of the fitting room on one of the corners, destroying it entirely, then turning to look around, the cat getting back into view.

“So, are you an employee here?” he asked, something weird to the way he was standing making Gabriel squint, then scowl as he continued talking, somehow managing to point straight at Medusa even with his eyes closed. “I really can’t tell with all of _that_ going on.”

Medusa hissed.

“Don’t get me wrong! It’s like the coolest thing ever! Thing is everyone down there has this nice ensemble, wondering if it is under that too.”

He was looking back again, towards the street, eyebrows raised. Something in the way he kept his left hand out of sight made Gabriel practically snarl.

“He is hiding something,” he said. “Whatever it is destroy it.”

“I am tired of your orders, Butterfly!”

Next to the window the cat chuckled.

“Oh! Is he bossy?” he asked, turning back to Medusa, eyes closed. “Hawkmoth, I mean. I bet he is bossy! By the way, can he listen to what I say or just to you? Because I mean, this is some seriously cool Greek theme he has going on today. You know minus the destruction and the mayhem and the all around terror—But back on topic, if you work here this is seriously such a bad idea. I mean think of the huge mess you are getting into!”

“Focus, Medusa!” Gabriel snarled. “Stop listening to him!”

“Shut up!”

The cat raised his eyebrows.

“That was with me or with him?”

“He is acting as bait!” Gabriel snapped. “Look for Ladybug!”

“I told you to shut up!”

“Still don’t know who should do that!” the cat sighed and it seemed to be the last provocation, Medusa moved to attack and, a huge grin filling his face, the cat jumped. Out into the vacuum, rotating mid air to shove the staff on the iron butterfly and sending himself straight into the fourth floor.

And his idiotic servant?

Medusa was mindlessly going after him, slithering down the butterfly’s wings, passed the cat’s abandoned staff and back inside the building.

“Stop following the—!”

It came into view then. The bug. The bug and the frying pan. A frying pan he understood what the purpose was the instant the cat dropped behind Medusa and what he had been hiding become clear. A camera. He raised it, aimed at the pan and pressed the button.

Gabriel grabbed the handrail, stumbling to his kn _ees,_ pure instinct making him cover his eyes rather than just close them, Nathalie’s footsteps running back to get to him, her hands holding his shoulders. For a moment, he thought he was blind. There was nothing around him other than this whiteness left by the flash. And then something cracked, the soft flapping of wings echoing around him. The connection still there as the akuma tried to get away, to flee back to him… and he got sight of the bug and the cat for a last second, bumping their fists, voices rising triumphant amidst all the destruction—Nathalie and himself not that far behind their backs.

“ ** _Hold._** ”

“Hold?” Nathalie looked at him, eyes fleeing from the broken door at their side and from a pair he was sure, from the way she held his shoulders, she too could see, a single glance to the stairs as he picked her up, enough for her to understand. “No— _Wait!_ ”

He had jumped and Nathalie’s arms wrapped around his neck, tightening as they fell, her face hiding on his shoulder. It took seconds for them to land on the lower floor and retreat under the stairs, away from view, where he put her down. Or he would have, if her legs hadn’t given up under her and left him to drop to his knees and lower her to sit in the first step of the stairs. From where she looked up. One hand covering her mouth as she took in the drop.

“That—”

He never knew what she meant to say. If anything at all. He was clenching his bruised right hand, pure frustration aiming it at punching the ground and she jumped forward the same instant, to stop him, both hands grabbing his, pulling it to her, hugging it to her chest, protectively, as the transformation collapsed and the white butterflies surrounded them both.

Gabriel’s attention went from her hands to her eyes.

“You came in here—” He sounded utterly bewildered. “ _Why?_ ”

Her eyes met his, then dropped as did her hands.

“I have to find Marinette.”

And she got up, walking outside, disappearing in the lobby, the pink light fixing the building following in her wake as Nooroo rose from behind Gabriel, tilting his head at her back.

The Miraculous seemed to be burying itself in Gabriel’s chest.

It was the only answer he would get.

 

#### Adrien

“You did it again,” Adrien grumbled in a low voice, right hand waving at Marinette as she got inside the bakery with her mother and was immediately ambushed by her father, the share difference of size between the two making it seem like she might break, like a twig, as he spinned around with her near the counter. “Why didn’t you say something? You promised you would.”

Attention breaking from the Dupain-Chengs to look at his own father, finding him dropping his eyes from Marinette being squeezed in a bear hug—some sort of emotion Adrien couldn’t quite understand on his face—Adrien tried to catch his eyes, fighting for a moment of his time, for his attention, for some kind of answer.

“Father?”

A gust of wind broke through the street, cold and biting now that night had fallen. Shivering, Adrien rubbed his arms, something warm being put over his shoulders—A piece of blue fabric. Father’s jacket, Adrien recognized—leaving him staring at father’s back just his fingers stroked his hair and he moved passed him, walking to the cars.

He was—He was actually paying attention, so why wasn’t he answering?

“You were not turned into stone, were you?”

The question seemed to take an eternity to get to its destination, when it finally broke through to wherever father’s mind was, however, one might think he had just offended him.

“What?” he snapped, stopping and turning beside Nathalie, who was waiting for them near the second car. “No!”

“Are you sure?” Adrien insisted, tilting his head at him.

“I think I would have noticed if that had happened.”

“Because if you were, nobody is going to think less of you.”

“I wasn’t turned into stone, Adrien!”

“I was just asking!”

Their voices, suddenly locked in the exact same snappish tone, faded into the night, a car going by, music blasting, leaving Gabriel glaring daggers at it as Adrien’s voice went back to a quiet inquisitive tone.

“So… Did you forget?”

“Car.”

Nathalie stepped forward, moving to open the backseat door before father could reach for the handle. Sliding inside, moving all the way to the other end of the backseat, Adrien looked back, watching as father followed him inside and Nathalie closed the door.

There was something weird going on here. This was not remotely part of her job.

“Is something wrong?” he queried, eyes studying father’s face as he massaged his temples. “Are you alright?”

“Tired.”

Adrien could see that. He had been visibly fighting not to slump in the car seat just now, to keep his eyes open, but he had been normal, for lack of a better word, for most of the night. And considering headquarters being destroyed by Hawkmoth and then restored by Ladybug, he actually had been pretty decent—except for that part with the confidentiality agreements he had shoved in front of his friends. That was… He didn’t even know what _that_ was. Other than father being father.

Rigth now, however, Adrien was concerned that he had just been putting up an act and that with Alya, Marinette and Nino gone, with it being just the two of them and Nathalie, he saw no further reason to pretend anymore.

“Try not to crash into the gates,” father told Nathalie, his voice completely devoid of energy, as she hit the ignition button and his attention slipped outside. Back to the Dupain-Chengs—all three of them waving from inside the bakery as the two cars joined the almost inexistent traffic—and then at the city as it started to go by.

“Father?”

He seemed to have forgotten he was here. With him in the car. And taking advantage of a red traffic light, Adrien slid to the middle seat, right next to him. Trying to catch something on his face. To understand what was going on. Instead, he saw him holding his right wrist.

“Is something wrong with your hand?”

He was going to give a heart attack to someone today. First, Ladybug. Now, father. Father having the advantage of not being liable to throw a yo-yo at his head. In fact, having turned to find him sitting at his side, he seemed stuck on looking between him and the seat he had been originally at, clearly trying to figure out how he had moved without him noticing. At least, before something far more urgent crossed his mind and he snapped his attention downwards, towards the seatbelt, making sure Adrien had it on.

Honestly, as far as distracting him went, this one was the best Adrien could ever hope for and he was not missing the opportunity. He reached out for father’s right arm, raising it to his eyes, what was going on underneath the white sleeve making his stomach turn.

“How did this happen?!”

It seemed to finally wake father this. And by that he meant he tried to get away from him, Adrien’s refusal to let go, leaving them locked in this weird tug-of-war in the backseat, before the fight ran out of father and he turned back to the window and the city, to the lights going by, to the people still walking on the streets.

“I have no idea,” he said, in the same exhausted tone he had used to address Nathalie. “It was like this after Selene returned to normal.”

“Selene?”

It took Adrien a moment to get there. To remember that had been Wailer’s real name. To get back at the mind controlled crowd the night before. And for his mind to take a sudden turn. To an abandoned building and a masked man rising above him, rapier in hand. To a yo-yo crashing into his wrist.

 _“He fits,”_ Ladybug’s voice insisted, rising from the same exact place in his mind as the wave of disbelief that left him rotted on spot, gazing at father’s bruised wrist, before something else came to mind and relief let him breathe again.

The Collector.

Hawkmoth had attacked father.

 _It can’t be him_ , he told himself, tone becoming more forceful. _It isn’t him._

And that meant there was only one thing that mattered here. Only one.

“This has been like this since _yesterday_?!”

There. That was what _actually_ mattered. And looking up to face father’s dull blue eyes, Adrien was completely incredulous.

“Why isn’t it bandaged?! Haven’t you gone to a—?!”

“For the last time, I am not going to a hospital.”

“The _last_ time?”

He looked at the front seat, eyes meeting Nathalie’s through the rear view mirror. So, she knew. And had tried. If she hadn’t been able to do anything, he didn’t even want to know what tenuous chance he got at achieving anything. Go figure why he didn’t just give up.

“Can you work?” Adrien asked, going back to the wrist, father grimacing when he tried to turn his arm, making him immediately stop. “Sorry. Seriously though, can you draw with this?”

“It’s hardly life threatning.”

Really? That was his reasoning?

Adrien gave him back his arm, leaning forward to get between the two front seats, attention raised towards Nathalie.

“Is there a hospital nearby or something?”

“ _Adrien,_ ” Father hissed.

“If it was with me you would drag me there!” he tossed to the back, turning to look at him to find him with his arms crossed.

“That is different,” father replied. And there, _there_ was the sigh and the slight eye roll.

“How?”

“I am your father.”

“Well, I am your son.”

And there was a glare. Not only at him, but also at Nathalie. It failed on both fronts. Nathalie was still looking politely amused at their exchange as _La Tour Eiffel_ appeared in front of them and the car started going around les Champs de Mars, following behind the one driven by his bodyguard. Meanwhile, Adrien—

No, he was not letting go of this any time soon.

“You can’t go around with your hand like this,” he insisted.

“I won’t be _‘going around’_ with anything,” father retorted, starting to sound annoyed. “I don’t intend to make leaving the house a habit.”

“Well, you can’t go around the house like this either,” he replied, back to his seat and pointing father’s attention from the approaching _Tour Eiffel_ to his own arm. “That looks awful. It must feel awful. What if it gets worse?”

And he didn’t want to think what that entailed. Not that father seemed to care. And why?

“It will be fine tomorrow.”

Adrien could do little but press his lips. There was ‘why’. Always the same rebuttal. Some things never changed.

“Do you remember that time when I twisted my ankle while fencing?” he heard himself say, arms crossed. “Like three years or something ago?”

A deep sigh and father was back at massaging his temples.

“I would have a great deal of difficulty forgetting that,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, me too,” Adrien grumbled back. “I failed second place because of it.”

Father blinked, seeming to have been thrown off course as he _finally_ turned to look at him. Then, he shook his head. Priorities, he seemed to be thinking. Which was rich coming from him.

“What has this to do with anything?” he sighed.

“It won’t be fine in the morning.”

Now it was father who was pressing his lips.

“I am not going anywhere near a hospital, Adrien.”

“Why?” Adrien insisted. “What is your problem with hospitals?”

“I have no problem with hospitals, I just won’t have the press descend on us like a band of ravenous—”

There was a sudden flare of light. White, bright, illuminating the interior of the car like it was day. Both of them stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Adrien’s immediate certainty that Hawkmoth was up to something— _again_ —being shaken to its core when the first flare gave way to a second one, then another and another, and both of them looked outside to find the street packed with cameras, the house’s walls barely visible behind them.

“The vultures are back,” father immediately scoffed, turning to Nathalie. “Keep driving.”

There was more than just hesitation to the way she bit her lower lip in answer. And the car was slowing down, the red tail lights of the one his bodyguard was driving threatening to disappear between the already closing crowd as she looked back at father.

“We are going to run over someone.”

He raised his eyebrows, a sort of cruel amusement bringing a smirk to his lips. The reply, when it came, was glacial.

“That will give them something to write about.”

Nathalie’s hands closed tighter over the wheel, the car gaining momentum again. She looked as out of her depth as Adrien would ever see her. He didn’t know why that scared him. He just knew of the madness going on outside. There were cameras hitting the windows. Muffled questions being tossed at them. Flashes.

Nathalie was right, no matter how dismissive father got over this situation. They were going to run over someone. There was no way this was going to end without someone getting hurt. And he couldn’t take his eyes off it. Off any of it. He kept watching as the crowd went by, one hand clinging to father’s hand, the opening iron gates coming closer and closer. Then, finally, the arch went over them.

They were inside now. In the courtyard. Peebles crunching under the wheels as the cars circled it and stopped in front of the stairway. Sliding out of the backseat behind father, flashes raining over them, Adrien immediately went for the stairs, a sudden pull at his arm making him look back.

“Father?”

He was not following. The harsh expression that had taken hold of his face as he looked at the iron gates the crowd fighting to get a clear shot of them was not allowing to close, the way his eyes followed Adrien’s bodyguard jog across the courtyard to solve the situation, making Adrien pull at his arm fearing he intended to stay here—then sigh when he moved, following him and Nathalie inside.

It was just the three of them now. Him, Nathalie and father. His bodyguard still outside and fighting the crowd. And they remained here, in the hallway, for what seemed to be like an eternity. Him still holding father’s hand. Nathalie to their right, attention outside. Both waiting, until father made a sudden turn for the atelier, taking them both in tow.

“Is _that_ necessary?” Nathalie asked, voice following him, quiet and matter-of-fact, eyebrows knitted. “It might just make things worse.”

“Worse?” father repeated, not looking their way. “They put us through hell last time. They can’t do worse.”

The atelier door was opened, the lights turning on around them as father went for the console making Adrien’s heart give a jump, finally understanding what Nathalie had been on about.

“Father, wait!”

His fingers were already flying over the display, moving over the house’s blueprints that were so clear to Adrien as he stood with him near the console.

“Father!”

He was not listening and the entire house had come to life. There were steel shutters rolling to cover the windows, locks echoing all around them and Adrien found himself taking an instinctive step behind father, hand tightening around his.

“Keep everything locked,” he heard him tell Nathalie. “No one enters this house and no one leaves.”

Nathalie nodded, undisturbed, and took one of the communicators on the wall with her as she stepped outside.

It was just the two of them here now. The silence left in the wake of the house going on lockdown seeing Adrien’s forehead come to rest against father’s arm.

“Please, Father,” he still whispered, pleading. _I don’t want to be locked in here._

He could not bring himself to say it. He just couldn’t. So, he forced out the only thing that could make this house feel less like a prison.

“Can I still go to school?”

“I believe we already discussed that _yesterday_.”

The answer had been angry, snappish, but still it was a yes. A ‘yes’, even if father didn’t seem to be here anymore. Even if somewhere between the car and the house, he had lost him. And so Adrien stepped away, out of the atelier, into his room and curled into bed. Plagg coming to rest not on the opposite side of it as he used to but at his side, using his arm as a pillow, leaving him looking at the kwami for an instant.

“He is not locking you in here so everything is alright, isn’t it?” Plagg said as if there wasn’t anything abnormal in his behavior, taking to watch Adrien as he pointed the glass wall’s command at it and pressed the buttons, trying to make it open. “He kept his word, right?”

"Guess so."

Adrien laid down, Plagg wiggling himself happily under the sheets alongside him, only to frown.

“Are you cold?”

He wasn’t. That was not why he was shivering. But putting the glass wall command on the bedside table, he reached for the pile of clothes he had dumped at the foot of the bed all the same, pulling father’s light blue jacket out.

He would still be huddled under it when morning arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part as promised. Hope you all liked it! And that was worth the wait :)


	4. The Painted Lady - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, we are back :) And first off:
> 
> A big thank you to Jojo1112, beta extraordinarie who had to put up with me and my desperation with this chapter the last few months.
> 
> To anyaaa, ProtoZero, Purpledragon6 and Vievin, once again thank you so much for your kind comments and support :) It really means a lot. 
> 
> Also, a warm welcome to the new readers who have found the story in the meanwhile and welcome back to the ones who have long been here :)
> 
> This chapter is long, as always, so, sit back, relax and take your time :) I hope (I really really hope) you enjoy it.

#### Adrien

Adrien was watching the clock, attention following the ticking seconds pointer as it went around the display, his frown getting deeper and deeper at each passing moment.

It was 6.15 p.m. right now, the TV was on and the telltale piece of flying cheese arching over the sofa said quite clearly Plagg really wasn’t that concerned with the fact both of them were running late _—again_. Still, and despite how much being late haunted his mind, Adrien sat at his desk, the Miraculous he had on his finger gleaming pure white under the light of the desk lamp, this prickling sensation going up his finger leaving him eyebrows knitted and waiting. Waiting for _—_

“ _ **Ouch!**_ ”

Adrien jerked his hand at the stab, hitting the lamp in the process, the fact that he had been waiting for this for quite some time doing exactly _nothing_ for how much it hurt or, Adrien might add, for how confused he got once he picked his mechanical pen and wrote down the time at the end of this long sequence at the edge of the page. This long sequence of times he had hoped would bring him some clarity _—_ and that made no sense at all.

“Really, what is _wrong_ with you?” Adrien asked the Miraculous, the music from an ongoing car commercial slightly muffling his words as he raised the ring to the light and pulled it slightly out of his finger. The skin under it was unblemished. Just like nothing had happened. “If you want to tell me something, I’m listening.”

He stared at the Miraculous after that. Studying it. Trying to coach some answer out of it. The realization of what he was doing, that he was trying to get some kind of clarity out of a piece of _jewelry_ , leading Adrien to drop his head on the desk, cheek going to rest on his math textbook, the prickling sensation again going up his finger making him sigh.

Really, some times it was a good thing he was left mostly alone. It would be quite something to justify what he was doing talking to a _ring_ if anyone had been here. However, just for the sake of having a try at justifying this _—_

Adrien took a deep breath, sat up straight and stopped, crossing his arms.

Okay, this was difficult to justify even to himself. And it was not that much better to look at Mom’s photo and try to tell her. So to look at the ceiling, to these colorful shadows the car commercial was painting all over his room, and _—_

“My Miraculous has gone insane,” he confided to the slowly approaching night. “It’s trying to bite my finger off.”

It felt releasing to say that. Even if no one was hearing. Even if there was no one to help. Even if it didn’t even scratch at the surface of what was going on. The truth was that ever since that mess with Medusa back at _Gabriel_ ’s headquarters one week ago, ever since waking up the next morning still wrapped on Father's jacket, Adrien's Miraculous had been behaving weirdly. The prickling sensation he could feel right now following him everywhere he went. The periodic stabs driving him insane. This tingling sensation on the back of his mind filing him with concern. He had brought this to Plagg, of course, but _—_

A new piece of cheese arching on the other side of the sofa made Adrien sigh.

“Don’t worry about it!” Plagg had said some two days prior and while stuffing his mouth full with Camemberg. “That happens to every holder! It will stop soon enough!”

 _It hadn’t stopped._ If anything it was getting worse. But _—_ another stab to his finger made Adrien study the Miraculous _—_ if there was nothing he could do about this, then maybe Plagg was right and it really was better not to linger on it. As things were, there were a ton of more urgent things he better focus on right now. And those started with _—_

Adrien went back to the clock, the mechanical pencil he still held on his fingers going to tap on the math exercises as he nodded at himself.

“Half past six,” Adrien said, determined. “ _Allons-y._ ”

The mechanical pen was put down. The distinctively feminine left-handed writing that peeked from the midst of his own penmanship _—_ the same one that said he hadn’t spent the entire afternoon alone with his math studies _—_ getting a somewhat remorseful glance before Adrien hit the lights, grabbed the deodorant that had been inconspicuously sitting on his desk, and practically glued himself to his bedroom wall, sneaking towards the door, his hand doing this very slow job of turning the handle before he peeked into the atrium.

It was already dark down there. Darker still with all the chandeliers being off and the sun having made its way below the buildings on the other side of the house. Nothing of that really mattered, however. In fact, Adrien’s attention remained still very much inside his bedroom. And he listened. Waited. Tried to figure out if _—_

“What are you sneaking around for?” Plagg queried, excited, his head appearing over Adrien’s shoulder as he too went to peek into the atrium. “What is going on? I want to be part of this too!”

An ominous grin flashed across Adrien’s face. _Well, well, well._

“Don’t worry,” Adrien purred, while closing the door, finger moving to the firing position on the deodorant he was hidding against his chest. “You are a huge part of this.”

“Great! So what is _—_?”

Plagg turned to him, bright green eyes immediately doubling in size.

“ _A–Adrien?”_

It was not the most dignified of noises that made it through Plagg’s lips after that, Adrien turning on him, grinning like a maniac, the words _Axe Body Spray_ shining menacingly from the can on his hands, seeing the kwami flee into the bedroom, a scented cloud of deodorant blasting behind him.

“My natural musk!” Plagg screeched as he went, running his hands over his black fur, smelling them and almost causing Adrien to trip over his own feet when he came to a screeching halt.“Oh, I like that one! It’s cheese scented!”

“ _Cheese scented?"_

Comprehension hit them both at the same time. Plagg’s pleased expression giving way to horror as Adrien started to sprint full speed, deodorant at the ready.

“Get back here, Plagg!” he shouted, following after the again fleeing kwami, both of them going over the bed, then across the room, then by the pinball machines and fencing posters and climbing wall, clouds of scented air left in their wake. “Stop running away!”

“Not in your dreams!”

“Chat Noir _—_!”

“Smells delicious!”

Adrien rammed straight into the piano at Plagg’s exclamation, the kwami’s sharp turn making him vault and dive head first on top of the soundboard.

“Oh, yes!  _Delicious!”_ Adrien tossed at Plagg, voice muffled by being almost upside down, a glance around the room once he managed to get his feet back on solid ground, showing him this black bolt going over the cheese plate near the TV, hands grabbing hold of a slice, small teeth sinking right into it.

“Plagg!” Adrien exclaimed, outraged, and running his way. “Stop it! Ladybug must be thinking I live in a cheese factory!”

“That’s the dream!”

Adrien jumped over the sofa’s back, a snort robbing him of both breath and momentum as he landed on the pillows.

“I’m serious, Plagg,” he nevertheless managed to wheeze, jumping back to the floor to see the kwami peeking from behind the TV. “Come here. And stop _hugging_ that cheese!”

Plagg gave him a deeply offended look, holding the cheese closer as he rose a few centimeters over the large TV.

“This is what gives me my natural musk!” he said and Adrien could but press the bridge of his nose.

“ _Le Pavin d’Auvergne_ is not your natural _anything_ ,” he rebutted while trying to find an angle from which he could spray Plagg _—_ which, by the way, would be a lot easier if he would just. Stay. Still! “You are just making this harder on yourself!”

“No, I’m not!” Plagg replied, still evading Adrien's efforts.

“Three seconds, Plagg!” Adrien announced, going to raise his fingers. “One. Two _—_ ”

Adrien jumped forward before he finished the countdown, trying to reach Plagg over the TV and then running after him, spraying now stop, as Plagg fled to the right.

“I thought you were studying!” Plagg shrieked while forcing Adrien to run up the spiral stairs to the room’s top floor. “Why aren’t you studying?! Where is Nathalie?!”

“She went down!” Adrien announced, sprinting after him, Plagg diving for the ground floor right when Adrien was in the middle of the upper floor’s walkway leaving him and the kwami to shout at each other over the railing whilst Adrien ran all the way back down. “Also! Nathalie said that what I didn’t learn during the afternoon wasn’t magically starting to make sense during the night! So I’m done!”

“Nathalie said _nothing_ about allowing you to terrify a poor kwami with your father’s _cologne!_ ” Plagg shot back, looking everywhere for an escape. “It is disappearing fast enough with you using it!”

“This is not Father’s _cologne!_ ” Adrien retorted while reaching the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on to his already fleeing target. “I bought something just for you!”

“Why does that sound like a threat?!”

“Stop running away!”

Adrien finally managed to corner Plagg between his desk and bed after a few more moments of running, skidding, falling and avoiding the piano, the grin again taking over his face leaving Plagg to cower against the wall.

“Do you _really_ want to do this?” he shrieked, staring down the Axe Body Spray that was being pointed straight at him. “Really _really_ want to do this?”

“I am rather sure I do,” Adrien panted, finger back in firing position. “Now, hold still _—_ ”

“I didn’t mean _this!”_ Plagg cut through in desperation. “I meant _that!”_

A tiny finger pointed straight behind Adrien. Towards where the TV was. Towards this lively voice that was filling the room. Towards the images of Ladybug, Chat Noir and this young reporter that always accompanied the now familiar announcement. Plagg pointed away from _himself_ and against his best judgment Adrien _looked_. He looked for no more than a pair of seconds, but it was all that it took. The moment he turned back, Plagg was gone.

“Plagg!” Adrien groaned, despaired, but it was the same as nothing. Nadja’s voice had drowned his. It rose triumphant on his bedroom, covering all other sounds.

“ _Tonight, for the first edition of_ ‘Face to Face’ _you will have the opportunity of a lifetime!”_ she announced. “ _The chance to talk live with Ladybug and Chat Noir along with me, Nadja Chamack. We will be revealing some sizzling hot revelations about your favorite superheroes—_ ”

Adrien hit the mute button on the command, shaking his head as he hanged head down over the back of the sofa. He couldn’t believe he had just fallen for this!

“Plagg, please, come out,” he now pleaded, raising his head to look towards the carefully made bed and the desk that lied somewhere under his math studies. “The two of us are _**not**_ going to national television smelling like that!”

“It’s TV!” Plagg retorted, his croaky voice coming from _—_ _Somewhere_. “Nobody can smell Chat Noir on TV!”

Adrien crossed his arms.

“I don’t care!” he stated, looking around his room. “And I wouldn’t have to resort to this if you hadn’t fled from the bath!”

“Kwamis are not meant to take baths!”

“I’m rather sure they aren’t meant to roll around in cheese either!”

Adrien could have just sworn he had heard something like _“Shows what you know”_ being thrown his way but _—_

“Please come out,” he begged. “This is serious!”

“Of course, it’s serious,” came the incorporeal reply. “Ladybug and Chat Noir giving an interview on prime time... Is it just me or that sounds like the worst idea ever?”

Adrien tossed the TV remote he still held on his hands back to the sofa. It jumped on the pillows as Adrien turned back and forth, and then finally shook his head.

“Ladybug wants to reassure the city that we are doing our best to stop Hawkmoth,” he justified, starting to make his way to search the cabinets next to his bed. “She wants everyone to know we will stop him.”

“Oh yes,” Plagg scoffed. “We go up on television and _—_ _ **Wait!**_ Are we _provoking_ Hawkmoth into attacking?”

Adrien was brought to a halt with the pillows from his bed one on each hand, deodorant held between his neck and chest.

“ _What?_ ” he stuttered, mind taking a few seconds to connect the dots on what Plagg had just said. “No!”

“Oh… I thought we might be trying to make him step out in the open or something,” Plagg mused, disappointed. “Turns out this is really just a very bad idea.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, making his way back across the room, to the glass wall, and looked up, making sure Plagg wasn’t speaking from the other side of the open panel before peeking outside.

The lights in the small back garden were already on, washing a pale light over the path, the pale marble statue of Mother and the large white tomcat deep asleep on its lap. Plagg, however, was nowhere to be found.

“You are only saying this is a bad idea because you want to stay here and eat cheese,” Adrien observed, turning his attention back to the room, the glass panel closing over him when he touched the control panel.

“I do,” Plagg concurred, unapologetic. “But more importantly, you have cameras in your face all through the day, not to mention that pile of them that has been waiting by the gate since last week, I can’t understand why you would want more!”

Adrien sighed, the deodorant falling to his side for a moment.

“They are just doing their jobs,” he simply stated. “Also, there is a really big difference between Nadja and the people camping outside.”

Plagg’s silence spoke volumes about him seeing no difference, but Adrien _really_ didn’t have time to explain it to him. He needed Plagg to be the one doing the talking. He needed _—_

“Look,” Adrien announced, stopping right in the middle of the room. Focusing. And frowning. And listening. “I won’t be the talk of the studio because of how you smell.”

“Do you want to be the talk of the city for sneaking out of the house?” Plagg retorted and Adrien snapped his head to the left, towards the door to his walk-in closet. “Nathalie asked if you would see that ‘Face to Face’ program and you said yes. Don’t you want to stay and _—_?”

Adrien pulled the door to the walk-in closet wide open, the grin immediately taking over his face at finding Plagg’s hiding place, being met by this horrified look from the kwami right before Adrien pressed the spray’s button and a cloud of strongly scented perfume hit Plagg square in the chest.

“Sorry about that, Plagg,” Adrien said while making his way back to his desk, a very betrayed looking kwami making disgusted noises behind him. “It is kind of an emergency.”

"But cheese smells so much better!" 

That was not only debatable it was downright false, still, if it made Plagg happy _—_ Adrien stopped near the pinball machines and looked back.

“It’s just for today.”

Plagg stopped sniffing himself long enough to throw this incredulous look at him.

“Are we _really_ going?”

Adrien blinked.

“Were you serious just now?”

“Did it sound like little old me was joking?” Plagg replied, crossing his arms and looking deeply offended. “Don’t you ever take me seriously?”

Not really, no. But just this once _—_ Adrien went to lean against the nearest pinball machine, eyes never leaving Plagg’s.

“Okay, let’s say I’m Ladybug. You are her kwami,” he said, pointing to himself and then at Plagg. “What would _she_ be saying to me right now?”

Plagg tilted his head.

“Tikki, you mean?” he asked and tapped on his chin, pondering for a moment, then sticking his tongue out.

“If I am here being all _responsible—”_ Plagg gave a very theatrical shiver at the thought. “She is being all mushy and saying she trusts her holder.”

That kind of put it in perspective.

“We are going,” Adrien decided, back at making his way to his desk.

“You are listening to Tikki instead of _me_?” Plagg exclaimed, rushing behind him, hands pressed to his heart. If that was a try at hurt feelings, however, all guilt Adrien might have felt feel right through the cracks the next instant. “I mean, sure I would much rather listen to Tikki too _—_ ”

Adrien rolled his eyes, stopping with his hands over the back of his desk chair.

“We are going, Plagg.”

“But it is such a _bad idea_ ,” Plagg replied, landing in the midst of Adrien’s math exercises. “And this is _me_ , telling _you,_ about bad ideas.”

“Bad idea or not,” Adrien replied, sitting down. “Ladybug is counting on us and we _—_ _the four of us—_ are a team. Can you imagine how weird it would be if Ladybug and Tikki end in that program alone?”

Plagg crossed his arms, unmoved.

“Take this for weird,” he said, pointing to his left. “Your Father gets through _that door_ and you are not in your room.”

Adrien took an exasperated breath.

“Like that ever happened.”

“Christmas,” Plagg put forth in a penetrating tone. “You ran out of the house thinking he didn’t want to celebrate the holiday without your mother. Turns out he did want to. He was just _late_. For what I remembered you scared him half to death.”

Adrien locked the Axe inside one of the desk’s drawers, his forehead going to rest against his hand.

“We had agreed _never_ to talk about that part of Christmas,” he whispered, not that Plagg was in any mood to be done with him just yet.

“If I remember correctly, your father thought a Santa Claus had kidnapped you,” Plagg, in fact, was now saying, nodding his head at his own words. “And then Ladybug thought _—_ How did it go again? Hawkmoth had akumatized someone into Santa Claus to kidnap you? Was it something like that?”

Adrien cringed, head still on his hand. That was exactly what had happened.

“Well, Ladybug and your Father were mostly on the same page, weren’t they?” Plagg observed. “And so was Hawkmoth, because then he _reeeeally_ turned that nice Santa Claus into an evil Santa Claus. That was _—_ ” Plagg stopped for a moment. “Really _unimaginative._ Anyway, your Father did come. You were the one who didn’t wait for him. Just because he isn’t here _now—_ ”

Adrien tossed his arms in the air.

“Why are we back at this?” he exclaimed in utter despair. “Ever since that illusionist attacked the house, you are always taking Father's side!”

“No, I am _not_! I just _—_!”

Whatever Plagg had been about to say in a very sulky tone seemed to become stuck in his throat. He stood there for a moment, among Adrien’s math exercises, eyes just as lifeless, just as haunted, as Father’s.

“Plagg?” Adrien called out to him after a moment, visibly concerned. “Is something _—_?”

He didn’t get to finish. Plagg had pinched himself. Hard by the looks of it. And he was turning back to Adrien, eyes shimmering like green fire.

“What is so difficult about going downstairs, knocking on that office door and asking _your father_ if he wants to watch the evening program with you?” he asked, serious. “What are you so afraid of?”

Adrien bit his lip.

“That he will say _no_.”

“And what if he _does_?” Plagg questioned. “You asked. You said it was _important_. He knows. That is better than _—_ ”

Adrien wouldn’t know what Plagg meant to tell him next. Neither did he want to know. Or to listen. And so his hand snapped forward, catching the kwami, keeping him still over his math textbook.

“Open your mouth,” Adrien asked, taking out a small flask of natural breath freshener he had been hiding in his pocket, then rolling his eyes when Plagg gave this wide-eyed look to it and shook his head. “Come on, _please_. You can’t go without breathing forever.”

“Yes, I can,” Plagg said through the corner of his mouth, rapidly turning to speak through the other corner the instant Adrien tried to stick the natural breathe freshener tube through there. “You will never get me!”

And now, Plagg was holding his breath. Or he was pretending to be doing that while still breathing through his nose. There wasn’t anything that Adrien could do but shake his head.

This was _childish_. And how utterly childish it was became suddenly incredibly embarrassing when Adrien found himself with this very clear image of himself sitting on his mother lap years ago, holding his breath, lips pressed and all of that just not to take his medicine.

“You can’t go without breathing forever, _peek-a-boo_ ,” she sighed with that gleam to her eyes that said she knew _exactly_ how he had been holding his breath for the last half an hour. “This will be over in a flash if you just take a brave breath and _—_ ”

Her hand dived for his side, tickling him non-stop. If that normally would make Adrien burst into laughter, however, now he just twisted in her lap, lips sealed. The tickling strategy, however, was not what was leaving present-day Adrien frowning as he faced the holding-his-breath-kwami sitting among his studies. No. Instead, he watched Father rise from where he had been sitting at the foot of the bed, and make his way to the ongoing tickling match, the book he had been reading left behind.

Being diplomatic had already failed, so _—_ Very well. Time for the hands-on approach. Adrien’s hand snapped forward the same moment Father’s did, Plagg’s nose getting caught between thumb and index finger much in the same way that of Adrien’s much younger self had, both him and Father going to loom ominously over their respective prey, a steel-like gleam taking over their eyes.

“There is no way around this, young man,” they said at the same time, in the same tone, and while leaning forward. Their answer? Both Plagg and Adrien’s younger self puffed their cheeks. From where he was standing today, sitting at his desk, looking at Plagg, Adrien felt a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for Father.

Puffing cheeks? _Really?_

_This isn’t happening._

But it was. And so both him and Father loomed closer still, the corners of their mouths curling down.

“I can do this the entire day,” they went on to say. “Can you?”

Somewhere in the past, Mom had taken to hold her head in one hand, massaging her temples, looking like she was sinking into the deep depths of despair. In the present, Plagg might as well have turned into Adrien’s five-year-old self. His mouth fell open, the natural breathe freshener Adrien immediately aimed inside his open mouth making Plagg flee from the desk the very same instant Adrien let go of his nose.

“ _ **Who are you?!**_ ” Plagg exclaimed, pulling his tongue out to try to scrap the breathe freshener off it. “What did you do to my dear sweet Adrien?!”

Adrien returned the tube to his pocket, unmoved.

“It would have been easier if you had helped, Plagg.”

The kwami didn’t seem to care. Not for that anyway. In fact, the only thing that seemed to matter to Plagg was salvaging his tongue.

“Can I _bave_ my _bolder_ back?” he asked, words barely understandable now that he was holding his tongue between two fingers and trying to access the damage. “Can I _bave_ _bim_ back right _bow_?”

Adrien shook his head, getting back to his feet.

“That was _me,_ you know?” he sighed and marched all the way to the sofa, picked up the remote control and turned the TV volume up until he was certain it was audible in the atrium. A few more moments of going over the buttons and the countdown that appeared on the top of the screen gained a nod. “The timer is set. We are leaving.”

Holding on to his tongue as he still was, Plagg stared at him, then rushed to his side, putting himself between Adrien and the glass wall he was walking to.

“But _—_!”

“Father won’t come, Plagg,” Adrien sighed.

“You don’t know that,” Plagg replied, still trying to block his path, arms wide open. “Just because he isn’t here now doesn’t mean he won’t come. He must be working.”

“He was working the entire week,” Adrien reminded him. “If he wanted to be here, he _—_ ”

The Miraculous bit into his finger so hard Adrien found himself holding his hand, the stabbing sensation climbing up his arm, however, was not as painful as the wave of guilt washing over at his mind, making him turn to the door and wait _—_ A minute. Two. And then just a little bit more _—_ before turning back to Plagg.

“Look, Father must have his reasons,” Adrien said while trying to hide his disappointment and then pointed outside, towards the large tomcat still sprawled on the lap of Mother’s statue. “Now, please _please_ , get your lookout out of there and into the front courtyard and let’s go!” 

#### Gabriel

A pencil was rolling down the desk, it’s pale purplish body picking up speed as it got further and further away from the metal case it had escaped, the sound of the rest of its companions being shuffled around covering its leap for freedom as it went right over the table’s edge and hit the floor, an infuriated _“Tsk”_ following in its wake.

“ _Oú est—?!_ ”

The infuriated question turned into an eye roll. Reaching out for the small pen knife he had forgotten was right at his side, Gabriel laid the blade against the pencil he held on his hands, frowning in concentration before going straight into work.

The blade slid easily under his touch. Long wood shavings raining over a pair of discarded designs. The hand that held the pencil rotating it until Gabriel raised the now carefully sharpened pencil to the light and picked up his notebook.

The soft scratching of lead against paper filled the atelier now. The pencil going over the elegant curve of a hip, the exquisite details to the back of a black nightgown, the careful turn to the charcoal model’s torso that made it look so much like she was about to look back, skirt wrapping around her figure, the line of her neck already in view.

It was an unnecessary detail. A clear sign of an artist indulging himself. But Gabriel wouldn’t have time to dwell on it. To chastise himself for losing time. Instead, the notebook hit his legs, a sudden commotion coming from the front courtyard making his head snap up, a watchful look being thrown to the street beyond the iron gates, anger distorting his face at what he already knew was there.

The vultures _—_ or, should he say, those blasted _journalists_ with their microphones and cameras and _questions_ that had set camp at his door for a week now! _—_ were pilling on the other side of the gates, cameras pointing at the front door, the clicking of the lenses breaking the quiet afternoon. Whatever disturbance had first caught their attention, however, whatever had happened that made them believe someone was going to step outside, whatever that was, it left them with nothing but disappointment at what they had actually caught.

A pigeon’s sloppy landing on the front courtyard, a piece of bread held in its beak.

A group of sparrows sweeping in to try and steal it.

One of the city’s large tomcats coming out of the bushes and scaring all of them away.

They should make the headlines those photos. Nearly fatal crash landing on a Parisian courtyard. Mugging near the Champs-Élysées. Break-in on famous fashion designer’s grounds.

Leaning against Nathalie’s desk near the windows overlooking the front courtyard, the design he had been working on being put next to the supplies that rested at his side, Gabriel clenched his teeth. The truth was he might actually have found some pleasure on his malicious outtake on his present predicament if an entire week of _this_ hadn’t soured his mood to the point the only thing he could see while glaring outside was the striking resemblance he shared with the cat now sitting directly under his window. Blue eyes surveying the front courtyard. Seeming to wish to sink its claws on the pests by the gate about as much as Gabriel did.

Suffice to say, however, the white feline actually had a better chance of doing it than Gabriel as of now. The only claws Paris had offered him the entire day was this distant feeling of loneliness, of doubt. And it was too weak. Too unstable to fuel the akuma. Not that it would have done him any good even if it was at full strength. As things were, Gabriel had his hands tied. And not because the thing behind the emotions left him feeling troubled. Something in the back of his mind telling him it was too dangerous. That it was better to leave it alone. No, the reason why he couldn’t act was because he had his house permanently _under siege_. Because there wasn’t anyone in his household _—_ not even the damn bodyguard _—_ that could move without being shot on sight. And what was Gabriel any good for in this scenario? What was he any good for if he couldn’t do anything?!

The desk slid back when Gabriel pulled himself away from it, the low metallic groan going through the atelier seeing him pick up the supplies he had scattered all over Nathalie’s desk and make his way back to the one in the center of the atelier, to the sketches and designs covering the entirety of it, to _—_

“Master is still angry, isn’t he?” a small voice pointed out, words rising from the small pile of thread reels Nooroo had gone around collecting and where he was now nestled in. “Does Master—?”

A glare hit Nooroo that same instant, its coldness, however, was not enough to stop the kwami from gathering his courage again and finish what he had been saying.

“Would Master wish to talk?” he asked, watching Gabriel as he went down the stairs near the console and started to walk along the table. “I can listen. I know how to.”

There was hope to those words. Just as if Nooroo wanted Gabriel to pour his heart out, to share. It was a hope that gained him little but disappointment for Gabriel sat, put his supplies and sketchbook down, and went to rub his bruised right wrist. If he truly had thought he would be spared Nooroo, however, he was mistaken. The kwami was not only determined, he was now very much with him, having taken flight from his nest to stand in front of Gabriel, studying the design he had just put to the side, his head softly titled, the wonder filling his eyes slowly being replaced with concern.

“Is _—_ ” Nooroo swallowed, fearful. “Is it an akuma?”

Gabriel’s lips turned into a tin, harsh line, the nasty retort he could feel boiling deep within his chest making his gaze fall on Nooroo. Spiteful. Bitter. Cold enough that the kwami actually backed away. And yet, the instant the blue eyes fell on Nooroo, Gabriel was no longer seeing him. Instead, he gazed at his own sketchbook, at the sheet under the kwami, at this one piece that was to be the center of his _entire collection,_ attention running up and down the tight fit strapless bodice, the long skirt with its slit, the intricate burst of tulle flowing elegantly down the gown’s back to the floor.

This—

Gabriel picked the sketchbook, incredulous.

This was a _butterfly_.

A black butterfly.

The entirety of Paris falling on its hands and knees over their Lords and Saviors Ladybug and Chat Noir and he had been about to put an akuma on the runway. Had _—_ Had he lost all manner of good sense? Of self-criticism? How on earth had this escaped his notice?! _**How?!**_

“Can Master not use one of these?” Nooroo’s voice cut through his thoughts, his gentle offer, followed by this surreal sensation one of his many discarded designs had just jumped out of the bin, lead Gabriel back to reality, back to the kwami that had just landed on the desk and the crumbled piece of paper he was struggling to smooth out. To this small kwami who was smiling at the utter garbage that was inside.

“I think these are beautiful too,” he whispered and Gabriel grinded his teeth, watching Nooroo dive back down, towards the overflowing paper bin near Gabriel's legs, talking non-stop.

“Is Master going to be making the clothes?” he queried, now back to the table with a second crumpled sheet. “Can I see them when they are done? Will _—_?”

Anger had just reached its boiling point. That same instant Gabriel turned, grabbing hold of the ball of paper Nooroo had on his hands, blue eyes staring him down for the half a second it took for Nooroo to drop his head, to let go of the crumpled sheet, to retreat, head hanging low, and go stand near the window.

“Can’t Master do anything about them?” he now asked, landing on Nathalie’s desk, near the computer display and keyboard, attention on the group outside. “This is Master’s home. If the people with the cameras wish to harm the people he cares for, Master should be allowed to do something.”

Ripping the sheet with the black gown out of the sketchbook and setting it aside, Gabriel pressed his lips, bent on going back to work, bent on ignoring him.

It lasted three seconds.

“If Master isn’t allowed to do something,” Nooroo said, turning back to him, a determined gleam to his eyes. “Hawkmoth is.”

Gabriel’s hand closed so tightly around the pencil pain blasted all the way up his arm. The furious gleam to his eyes, however, had nothing to do with that.

“You must think this is a game,” he growled.

“No!”

A tremor had taken over Nooroo’s voice, still he took flight, the fading daylight coming from the windows drawing the delicate outline of his wings as he caught sight of something and made his way to the floor.

“I have tried to tell Master,” Nooroo said, coming back up a few seconds later, a pencil that was exactly his color in his hands. “Miraculous are meant to be used for good. And Master would be protecting his son.”

A shocked silence befell the atelier. The retort that had been on the tip of Gabriel’s tongue dying away as he stared at Nooroo, feeling the kwami’s eyes bore into his.

“They hurt Adrien before, didn’t they?” Nooroo asked, gently, never releasing Gabriel’s eyes and searching _—_ searching for something within. “The people with the cameras.”

Gabriel sat straighter, the pencil he had on his hand pressing so hard against the white sheet in front of him it was all but ripping through it.

“That is why Master is so angry. Master feels like he failed to keep Adrien safe—!!”

He wouldn’t get to finish. Gabriel was on his feet. Furious. The sight of Noooroo’s eyes doubling in size, of the kwami trying to flee for safety, the last thing Gabriel was aware of before he hurled the sketchbook across the atelier and, with a knock, Nathalie made the very unfortunate decision of stepping inside. It was _—_ It was like watching a disaster in slow motion. The notebook Gabriel had sent zooming for the kwami was heading towards her instead. And it was nothing short of luck it never reached her. That instead it bashed violently against the door, failing to hit Nathalie by mere centimeters.

Still—and as if Gabriel was in need of more guilt to top this one up—Nathalie took a step back, towards the atrium, eyes searching Gabriel’s face. Alarmed. Frightened. Clearly expecting to find someone who was not entirely him inside. It seemed to relieve her immensely that, in the end, the sketchbook remained on the ground, face down and sheets crumbled, rather than fly back to Gabriel’s outstretched hand.

“My apologies, Sir,” she said, professional as ever and leaning to pick up the sketchbook. “Had I known you were this eager to hand over your work, I would have come earlier.”

Gabriel pressed the cane of his nose at the note of humor in her tone, attention following Nathalie as she made her way to his side, smoothing out each of the sketchbook's pages, the surprised look she went on to give the designs over the table, leading Gabriel to follow her gaze _—_ and immediately curl his lips.

He hadn't noticed it beforee but the sheets over the desk were _organized_. Lined next to each other in these perfectly spaced rows. They hadn’t been like that when she had left. This was not remotely the way Gabriel kept his work. Which meant only one thing. _Nooroo_ had kept himself _entertained_ the last few hours. One of the few times he allowed the thing out of the Observatory and it was already messing around. Was he dealing with children now to have to tell the kwami not to—?!

“Is this final?” Nathalie queried, cutting through Gabriel's mental rant, his sketchbook being put over the table so she could pick the design she had mentioned. The one with the black gown. “Do you wish for it to be sent to—?”

Her eyebrows knitted the same instant she took a closer look, attention moving up and down the design, lingering on it, then on him.

“I know what it resembles,” Gabriel replied, sharply.

“Should I archive it?”

Gabriel pressed his lips, raising one hand to receive the design… and to crush it as soon as he had it back, the way Nathalie’s gaze kept following the discarded sheet even as it fell on the bin a mere side note on his mind.

“I will be retiring,” she informed after a moment, attention now back to him. “Do you need something?”

Gabriel frowned at the fading daylight coming from the exterior, fingers diving for the phone over the table, running down its display, irritation taking over his pensive expression the very instant he looked at the clock.

“You should have retired three hours ago.”

“Adrien was studying,” Nathalie simply informed. “He needed help.”

“Adrien,” Gabriel retorted, starting to make his way around the table to get to the atelier’s upper level. “Needs to _remember_ tutoring him is no longer part of your job. Rest assured I will raise the subject with him.”

Nathalie’s sharp intake of breath, her irritation, made the Miraculous stab at Gabriel's chest.

“Would it be _possible_ to break your fasting on talking with him with any other subject?” she countered, sternly. “It has been a week since you were in the same room.”

“A privilege he should be grateful for as you yourself can attest to.”

“A privilege for which he _isn’t,_ ” Nathalie replied as Gabriel stopped in front of the windows, staring outside. When she again talked, her voice was back to her usual neutral tone. “This interview you will be watching tonight, the one with Ladybug and Chat Noir _—_ I inquired Adrien after it. He said he would be watching.”

Gabriel pressed his lips, silence settling around him, eyes meeting his own reflection. What he saw there made him clench his fists.

“Will you go to him?” Nathalie even so insisted. Her reflection telling him she was making her way up _—_ and stopping near the console. “It was you who said it wasn’t safe to send akumas out during the day while the press remains outside. There is little reason for you and Adrien to be on opposite ends of the house.”

“There is plenty of reason,” Gabriel retorted.

“He misses you.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, clasping his hands so hard his knuckles turned white and yet, when he opened them, it was still _there_. Staring back at him from the window. The angry creature wearing his face.

“He doesn’t need to deal with this.”

“No,” Nathalie agreed, her disappointment making the Miraculous shiver against Gabriel's chest. “But, I am sure he would rather.”

She dropped her eyes to the floor with those words, stepping back towards the console, connecting it, a gentle _“Goodnight, Sir”_ left in her wake as she stepped outside, closing the door. Her absence made the atelier feel empty. At least, until _Nooroo_ returned to stand with him near the window, extending the now crumpled sheet with the black gown back to Gabriel.

“The Lady likes it,” he told him, gently. “She was sad when Master tossed it away. I thought Master ought to know.”

Gabriel glanced at the gown, then at the door, only to turn his back on all of it a moment later, the announcement of the _“beloved guardians of Paris”_ coming from the console leading him straight to it. He never noticed the sad look Nooroo was giving him. He never noticed he had stayed behind, trying to smooth the sheet. Instead, Gabriel focused on studying the two self-proclaimed _‘superheroes’_ being made fools on prime time, compromising picture after compromising picture leaving the bug rigid and increasingly outraged. As for the cat _—_

“We are _not_ a couple!” Ladybug insisted, leaning forward in the sofa, looking back at her partner for support.

“But hopefully one day!” he teased.

“Chat!”

Gabriel’s eyes bored into the feline, studying Chat Noir as he remained sprawled on the sofa, smiling and in good humor, his initial shock at the pictures rolling over him like a passing wave and leaving him chuckling at what was happening. Always charming. Always polite. _And b_ _ehaving like he had been taught how to do this._

“Master?”

Gabriel had stormed into the dark atrium. Attention on Adrien’s door. The voices coming from inside the atelier and his son’s bedroom following behind him as he marched to the stairs. The certainty he was about to find the room _empty_ , making his anger boil.

“This interview is so over,” the bug was now saying, her voice echoing on the atrium alongside Gabriel's footsteps, her angry words giving way to the cat’s confused exclamation.

“What’s the rush?”

“There is an alert.”

“Wait you two the show is not over yet!” a third voice, the one belonging to the reporter, Nadja Chamack, trembled on the white and black marble, the steady pulsing of the Miraculous turning into one sharp stab at her words. “Your fans will be disappointed if they don’t get an answer!”

It was as if time had stopped. Standing on the first step of the stairway, one hand over the cold stone railing, attention still on Adrien’s bedroom door, Gabriel waited, furious but listening, the dark sky hanging over the press weighing on his mind about as much as what he could sense in the distance. Hope and despair all in one. A swaying pendulum hanging on the bug’s answer. Just like his chance. A chance the night would finally allow him to take.

 _So, what will be it, bug?_ _**Sp**_ _ **eak!** _

And Ladybug did. Her clear, determined voice echoing on the high ceiling of the house’s entrance.

“If they are true fans they will understand.”

“Milady is right.”

Gabriel had to laugh. He was still laughing as the butterflies rose around him and the akuma left his fingers, disappearing into the night, attaching itself to his prey.

“Prime Queen, I see Ladybug and Chat Noir have denied you the answers you deserve,” he said, softly. “Steal their Miraculous and you will get your scoop.”

Hawkmoth stepped towards the circular window with Nadja's answer. His grin, however, died the same moment he looked outside to find the press making its usual rounds around the house. The ever-present memory of returning home, on the countryside, to find Adrien sitting on the stairway, waiting for Emilie, eyes rimmed red and trying to whip away his tears, coming to the forefront of his mind so clearly, Gabriel was left looming high over that group, Nooroo’s words haunting his thoughts.

“ _Master_ _feels like he failed to keep Adrien safe_ _—_ _”_

Gabriel’s hands closed over the cane, hatred taking over his mind.

Prime Queen, was it not?

Very well, he would let her do as she pleased.

#### Adrien

“Do you think Nadja will be _alright_?” Chat Noir was mumbling to himself, one hand running through his hair as he laid belly up on a roof, eyes closed. “Do _you_ think _—_?”

Adrien’s present exercise of stressing each of the words on that sentence was cut short by a yawn, Ladybug’s query _—_ the one she had made shortly before disappearing into the night or, should he say, before she dashed away in a panic, telling him to keep an eye on Nadja and leaving Adrien to stare at her back utterly bewildered _—_ hanging among the sounds of traffic, before the conversation flowing softly out of a window two floors below Adrien threatened to take center stage and Adrien cleaned his throat, trying to muffle Sabine Dupain Cheng’s quiet voice with his own.

“Am I missing something?” Adrien pondered, the hand that had been running through his hair, now hanging limply over the drop to his left, a cloudy sky opening in front of him as he peeked from behind heavy eyelids. “I must be missing something. I mean _—_ ”

“Chat.”

 _This_ must be karma for running after Plagg with deodorant. Sprawled as he was over the tiles, bored, tired and, he feared, closer to dozing off than he would ever admit to, Adrien didn’t so much jump back to action as he very literally dived into it. The girl who was standing on the small terrace under him, the girl his mind had perceived as a threat and who most definitely was _not_ one, being left to stare at him as rolled and yelped and crashed through the air headfirst. How he managed to land on all fours after that _—_ rather than on his nose, he meant _—_ was a mystery Adrien didn’t care to see solved as much as one more of the many surrounding the blue-eyed girl leaning down and offering a hand to him in help.

“Could you be any more like a cat?” Ladybug sighed, pulling him back to his feet as soon as his hand closed over hers. “You just made that twisting midair thing they do, you know?”

Running one hand over his hair, pulling it off his eyes so he could stare at Ladybug in disbelief, Adrien took a pair of seconds to find his voice.

“Where on earth did you just come out _of_?!”

“Never mind that,” Ladybug shrugged and her attention moved away from the small terrace they stood on, away from its plants and chair and a math textbook that laid open on a small table, her right hand raising to point his attention towards the street, towards this young woman making her way across the sidewalk and towards her parked car, a small child deeply asleep against her shoulder.

“Nadja is leaving,” she said. “We have to go!”

Ladybug was off before Adrien could say anything, before he could _ask_ anything, including what the two of them were supposed to be doing, what _he_ had been doing ever since Prime Queen had gone back to being just Nadja Chamack and Chat Noir had discretely tailed her all through Paris. First back to her workplace. Then to pick up her daughter from what turned to be Marinette’s house. Now _—_

“Chat! Come on!”

Adrien took the staff out, running after Ladybug just as she tossed the yo-yo across the street, wrapped it around a nearby chimney and jumped away from the terrace, the mouth-watering smell of pastries and bread still following behind them even as the car took a turn away from Place des Vosges and the Dupain-Cheng’s household was left behind.

“Out of curiosity, Milady,” Adrien finally managed to ask as the two of them landed on a nearby roof, keeping track of the car, the black tiles they were running over clanking against each other, naked trees and lit street lamps falling behind them. “Why are we following Nadja? What are we keeping an eye out for? Muggers? Stalkers? Enraged fans?”

A red street light brought Nadja’s car to a stop on a long line of traffic. Both of them dropping for cover, belly down, on the opposite side of the roof’s incline, Adrien found himself frowning at the hand Ladybug had risen his way. A hand and three very imperative gloved fingers that started going down in tandem with her words.

“Runway metro. Plugging sarcophagus. Locked freezer.”

 _Right._ Adrien nodded, peeking over the moss-covered tiles to the long line of traffic, keeping one eye on Nadja’s car, before turning back to Ladybug.

“Should I be on the lookout for _those_?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes.

“No,” she groaned, stealing a glance at Adrien. She had only to take the huge Chesire Cat grin on his face for her forehead to go rest against the tiles.

“I am not making any sense, am I?”

“No, not really, Milady,” Adrien smiled, but the traffic light had gone green and they were on the move before he could continue, back to following the car, back to jumping from roof to roof and this time they didn’t stop for a very long time. When they did stop, they were on the opposite side of the city, surrounded by modern buildings, having crossed the Seine, La Tour Eiffel far off in the distance. And to be honest, while landing on top of a 10 or something floor building, walking by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into this large pool of water one of them was dripping all over the place, Adrien was rather sure they had lost Nadja. Or he was sure, until he joined Ladybug after she jogged away from him, moonlight washing over her bright red suit, and went to lean on the parapet, pointing his attention downwards.

“She is home now,” she commented and Adrien had to frown.

“You know where Nadja _lives_?”

He was shushed, attention being pointed to the street again.

Under them, beyond the naked trees and lit street lamps, standing at the precariously lit doorstep of one of the street’s many modern buildings, Nadja Chamack was not so much _‘at home’_ as she was searching for the keys that would get her there, her daughter so deeply asleep against her shoulder she didn’t even stir despite Nadja’s going over her bag or, Adrien might add, when she let out a triumphant exclamation and fished the key from inside, put it to the building’s door and, a short struggle later, disappeared inside with the sleeping Mannon. It was only when the light was turned on in one of the top floors sometime later, that Adrien turned back towards Ladybug to find her drumming her fingers against the cement parapet, looking up and down the street rather than the building, her cautious expression such Adrien was left mimicking her gesture. Searching the night. Frowning. And, as it would happen, at a loss.

“Am I missing something?” he asked her much in the same way he had asked himself, all the while trying to read Ladybug’s expression. “What’s in your mind? You know, apart from school tests, homework, and all those pesky little things I am sure are crawling all over your room too.”

Ladybug snorted, aiming a friendly punch at his arm.

“Stop that,” she said, again turning to the street, the cars going up and down it being completely ignored as she instead searched the sky over the city, relief finally putting a smile on her face. “ _Nothing_. We can go home now, Chat!”

Having jumped to sit on the parapet only to see Ladybug dash back the way they had come, running by row after row of AC units, feet sinking into the puddle, Adrien didn’t think he had ever been this confused in his life.

“Wait!” he shouted as she took out the yo-yo. “We are _leaving_?!”

“Turns out I was wrong!”

“Wrong about what?! Milady!”

She had _—_ She had jumped already! Her yo-yo cutting through the sky, the bright red suit being draw on the glass facade of the building on the other side of the street as she swung, landed on its roof and Adrien moved to follow after her, using the staff to propel himself over the street and land on a terrace that, going by the sheer number of AC units, wasn’t all that different from the one he had just left.

“A little heads next time?” Adrien asked upon rejoining Ladybug on her jog across this new building, a sea of lights opening in front of them as the two of them took a left and _La Tour Eiffel_ appeared among the sea of smaller buildings in the distance. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Butterflies,” Ladybug said, shrugging at Adrien’s raised eyebrows. “I thought Hawkmoth might come after Nadja again.”

_What?_

“Why would he do _that_?” Adrien asked and they both jumped off the building, soaring through the sky before landing several meters down and right on top of one of the city’s buses.

“I don’t know,” Ladybug said, holding on to the top of the bus, the traffic going by them as she spoke. “I just thought what happened today seemed personal.”

“Not wanting to sound dramatic,” Adrien started to say, the vehicle they were riding taking a turn on the wrong direction forcing them to jump off it and again aim for the rooftops. “But it’s always personal with him," Adrien continued as soon as they landed. "I get this feeling he kind of hates us.”

“I meant personal against _Nadja,_ ” Ladybug simply stated and they stopped, her hand going to grab the metal ladder on a nearby chimney as she turned to him. “Prime Queen was completely out of control. I just thought, you know, Hawkmoth usually runs a really tight ship, so _—_ ”

Adrien had to snort, crossing his arms, the night breeze playing with his hair, staff tapping against his shoulder.

“He has a one person show!” he couldn’t resist saying, a huge grin filling his face as the two of them started running again. “It can’t be that _—_!”

 _Hard_ , was lost to this sharp stab of pain that sank into his hand right at that moment. The loud exclamation that Adrien couldn’t help but make startling Ladybug so much she tried to both aim her yo-yo and turn to him the same moment. It went _—_ Well, it went as expected. She slipped. Starting to go down the roof before managing to stop herself halfway down and climb her way back up, stopping near Adrien, concern written on her face.

“What _happened_?”

“I have no idea,” Adrien groaned, opening and closing his hand, before dropping to sit on the tiles, a comfortably cold breezing going by him. “But, I have been meaning to ask, Milady, has your Miraculous developed a vendetta against you this last week?”

“A ven _—_?”

Ladybug looked between him and the hand he was holding, immediately dropping to grab hold of his wrist and raise his hand against the pale moonlight. She was turning it back and forth now. Frowning and squinting.

“No,” she said, blue eyes, sinking into his. “ _Why?_ ”

“Mine has. I think it’s trying to bite my finger off,” Adrien tried to joke. “It's either that or trying to tell me something.”

Ladybug’s face filled with alarm.

“I really hope not,” she whispered, back to studying his Miraculous, then grimacing at Adrien’s questioning gaze.

“Bad luck, Chat?” she reminded him, proceeding to point at the black ring. “That is what that Miraculous is supposed to stand for, right? If it is telling you something…”

Adrien hadn’t _—_ He hadn’t thought of that.

“You think it’s something _bad?!_ ”

Ladybug tilted her head, pragmatic as ever, the sounds of traffic and honking vehicles rising around them as she talked.

“Have you spoken to your kwami?” she asked, crossing her arms, the nod Adrien gave her make her frown. “What did he say?”

“That it’s normal. That it isn’t anything important. That it is supposed to happen due to affinity between holder and Miraculous or something of the sort. It was not that helpful to be honest.”

Adrien sighed, shaking his head.

“I mean, I went the entire week trying to give him a bath and spraying him with perfume, so he would be _unhelpful_ , but _—_ ”

Ladybug’s eyebrows had just jumped up, she was looking up and down him, head going to lean against her right hand.

“I wondered what that smell was,” she whispered, thoughtful, while sniffing the air. “I mean it’s _nice_ , but I think you went a little overboard there, Chat.”

“Believe me, _I didn’t,_ ” Adrien replied, ominously, and then sighed looking at the now ominously calm Miraculous.

“Sure would be useful to know whoever gave us these,” he said. “At least, we could ask, right? As it stands we have a better chance of going to Hawkmoth and ask _him_.”

Adrien had to snort at imagining how that would go down, Ladybug’s very uncomfortable expression not even registering on his mind as he leaned back, going back to the city shining bright around them and their original conversation.

“So you thought Hawkmoth was trying to make Nadja look bad or something?” he asked, seeing Ladybug shrug, head still on her hand. "That was why we were following her?"

“Kind off?” Ladybug said, a cloud going passed the moon leaving darkness to settle around them. “I mean, can you imagine what would happen if she had actually defeated us? How much people would hate her? She was broadcasting it all on top of it. So I thought that she must have done something. Maybe Hawkmoth knew her and _—_ ”

“She interviewed him with some scandalous pictures?”

It was like a bomb had gone off. Ladybug was up the same instant, arms crossed, this outraged gleam to her eyes.

“I was not kissing you!”

Adrien tossed his head back for a heartfelt chuckle.

“I would much rather remember when you do,” he teased, good-naturedly, the distant tolling of a church bell making Ladybug spring back to action, not to say across the roof, while glaring his way.

“I have to get home!” she announced, taking the yo-yo out and tossing it across the street only to come to an abrupt stop with one foot already over the parapet and turn back to him. “By the way, I read about Medusa and the Minotaur.”

Adrien's eyebrows jumped.

“You did?” he asked, astonished, getting to his feet as soon as he saw Ladybug start to take balance to leave the roof. “Wait! Don’t! What did you think?”

“That you have some very interesting literary taste, kitty.”

Adrien had to chuckle, facing Ladybug as she stood surrounded by the city’s lights.

“That’s not me,” he admitted with a fond smile, right hand running through his hair. “I had someone reading them to me when _—_ ”

His head caught up to his mouth too late. The sound of a door opening inside his memory, the clicking of high heels replacing the calm voice that had been reading to him, leaving him staring at Ladybug so fearful of what her reaction might be, so certain of what was to come _—_ for he had heard it all before _—_ that the same words that had been on Father’s voice when Mother stopped at his side, reaching for the book on his lap, had found their place in his voice.

Sad.

And awkward.

And pleading.

“It’s culture.”

“It makes for some weird bedtime stories,” Ladybug pointed out.

He _—_ He must be staring at her. He _was_ staring at her. At her smile. At that small dimple that always appeared on the left side of Ladybug's face when she really meant it. At the teasing gleam to her blue eyes. This wasn’t _—_ This wasn’t at all what he had expected. It wasn’t how Mother had reacted. She hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t found it funny. And he didn’t know… He was too dumbstruck to know how to react.

“Well, I-I mean,” Adrien stuttered, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands _—_ and all other parts of himself actually. “The person who told them to me is rather weird too!”

Adrien pressed his temples at that. What was he _saying_?! It wasn’t as if it was untruth but did he have to go around and describe Father like _that_?

“When I said weird, I meant _—_ ”

“That this person is kind of like you, kitty?” Ladybug put forth leaving Adrien to stare at her.

“Am I _weird_?”

Ladybug’s teasing smile looked like a chuckle. This time, turning back to the bright city lights, she really took balance.

“I will read about some guy named Pantheon and a Sun Charriot tomorrow!”

“You _will_?”

“I like those stories, Chat!”

Adrien froze. Those words _—_ How easily Ladybug had spoken them, like they were no big deal at all, haunting him as he watched her jump off the roof, land across the street and dive into the night, getting smaller and smaller, turning into this distant red dot _—_ and then into nothing at all.

How long did he stand there after he lost her from sight? How long until he convinced himself to go back to the house? Minutes? Hours?

In the end, he only knew that he was still not back to his room when the sun broke over the city. That, instead, he sat and gazed at the chateau from one of the nearby roofs. Watching the press as it remained at the door. Seeing Father’s bedroom light being turned off. Dropping his eyes as Nathalie appeared at the door to meet the delivery truck that always brought the red roses he left near Mother’s statue in the garden.

It was only when she left the courtyard, disappearing inside the house, that Adrien found it in himself to take that one final leap, to land inside his room and go down the stairs.

“Will you talk to your father _now?”_ Plagg insisted, arms crossed and peeking from inside Adrien's shirt.

“I have to do something first.”

And he made his way into the silent living room. To the family portrait over the mantelpiece. He made his way to Mother.

“I _—_ ”

Adrien took a deep breathe, facing those green eyes that were so much like his own.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said. “But you got so angry with Father, I _—_ ”

It felt like she was waiting. Her head tilted, that small smile she used to listen to him with touching her lips. It felt just like she was _here_ and thinking that, what Adrien had wished he had been brave enough to tell her all those years ago, the words that might have stopped whatever she had said after Nathalie had caught him with his ear pressed to the living room door and taken him away _—_ the words that might have stopped whatever Mom had told Father that had made him never return with his stories and his monsters no matter how long Adrien waited for him _—_ those words found their place in the solitude of the living room, his heart opening for a confession Adrien wished more than anything his mother could still hear.

“I liked them too.”

#### Nathalie

“I am not at all sure this is a good idea,” a croaky voice was stating, the not so quiet words rising on the marble atrium just as the sun appeared over the buildings, a rare warmth making its way inside. “I am all for the rebellious streak, you know? But if your father finds you _here_ you will get to be a rebel in your room.”

“I won’t get to be a rebel _anywhere_ ,” Adrien replied, obstinate and with his voice slightly muffled. His position, kneeling in front of the atelier’s door, made it clear he was trying to look through the keyhole. “And Father won’t catch us if you help.”

“The only reason why he won’t catch _**us**_ ,” the first voice started to say. “Is because I won’t be here for him to catch. I hate to be the voice of reason, but _—_ _Did you hear that?_ ”

“Stop. Trying. To scare me!” Adrien hissed, ear now pressed to the door.

“But I just heard this _splash!_ ”

“There was no _splash!_ There is no one here! It’s just me, Nathalie and Father in the house and they both live here! _Why_ would they hide?!”

Silent, back pressed against the stairway on the opposite side where Adrien stood, Nathalie shook her head at herself. _Why_ she was hiding was actually a pretty good question. _Why_ she was hiding with a vase that had very nearly slipped from her hands, and her feet in a puddle of water was probably a better one. Still, she remained where she was. Looking over the railway to the place where Adrien stood. Listening to that strange voice. Taking her chances with the family crystals. Suspicion finally getting the better of her and making her step across the atrium, listening in as Adrien and whoever he was speaking to kept at their argument, words muffling her footsteps.

“Can you see something?” the croaky voice asked.

“Not with you talking.”

“How does me _talking_ hamper you from _seeing_?!”

“I didn’t say it made sense!”

Nathalie cleared her throat, stopping right behind Adrien, crystal vase still in her hands, this very clear memory of catching a much younger Adrien doing the exact same thing spilling into her words.

“I thought we were passed this.”

Adrien almost hit the ceiling, his startled gasp echoing loudly in the atrium as he tried to scramble away from the door, to get back to his feet, to face her and instead was catapulted backwards, falling arms flapping at his sides and ending up sprawled belly up at her feet, a half-relieved, half-embarrassed smile filling his face when he saw who it was that stood over him.

“I thought you were inside,” Adrien admitted pointing at the atelier's door, his words being met by Nathalie’s raised eyebrows.

“What gave me away?”

Adrien snorted, hand remaining firmly closed over his shirt pocket as he went to sit. There was something to that gesture _—_ _something_ that made Nathalie frown.

“Who were you talking to?” she queried, eyes searching the green ones, then falling on the phone Adrien had on his hand. The same one he was rising to show her.

“Nino,” he clarified, pulling the phone back down. “He is going to Marinette’s birthday party too. We were just deciding where we would meet.”

Nathalie tilted her head.

“By listening at the door?”

Adrien’s expression fell, this glance being given behind him _—_ towards the atelier’s dark door _—_ before he turned back to her, eyes downcast.

“I knocked but Father didn’t answer,” Adrien explained, a sad note to his words. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I haven’t seen him the entire week.”

Nathalie’s fingers closed tighter around the crystal vase, her lips turning into a thin harsh line when she looked at the atelier door and stepped forward, walking right by Adrien.

“Give me a moment.”

A blast of cold came from inside the atelier when she opened the door. Stopping by the entrance, however, her hip being used as leverage to keep the door open, Nathalie hadn’t been brought to a stop by the Arctic-like temperature. No. Instead, she stood squinting at this thick wall of darkness, the blade of light coming from behind her allowing her to see the first of the stone models and her own desk to the left but little else.

It made little difference, though. At this point, she knew this room by heart and _—_ even if that in no way _meant_ she would risk navigating the atelier in complete darkness considering the pit running around the center desk _—_ she stepped inside all the same, making her way along her desk, towards the roses _—_ Emilie’s roses _—_ that laid over it, the jar being carefully dropped next to them.

She would be lying if she said she expected this. The atelier hadn’t been in this state when she had left. And she didn’t have the courage to look back at Adrien and see what he thought of this. As it was she could almost picture him. The wide-eyed stare. The way he must be biting his lip. One hand running through his hair.

This wouldn’t do.

Too much was enough.

And Nathalie went around her desk, fingers hitting the AC commands that were right over the scanner, then the shutters’ controls at their side. Light washed over the atelier the same moment she did, touching the stone models and the black and white designs behind them, rushing all the way along the center desk, the warm torrent of air cutting through the cold making the designs over the desk flutter.

It should have made things _better_. But none of it made that much difference given Gabriel’s present mood.

“I thought I had made it clear,” he said speaking from the other end of the atelier, from where she expected him to be, his back turned and facing Emilie’s portrait. “That I don’t want to be _disturbed_.”

Back to the jar she had brought with her, Nathalie laid the roses gently in the water, fingers running over the crimson-red buds before she turned back to the atelier, back to Gabriel, eyes facing his back.

“I am afraid this concerns work, Sir,” she said finally glancing at Adrien, a discreet gesture telling him to wait before she went back to his father and proceeded. “Your PR Department called. It has several fashion magazines interested in interviewing you. Bernhard has sent the information to your e-mail, he asks _—_ ”

“The answer is no.”

Nathalie remained impassive.

“To all of them?”

Gabriel’s lack of answer was an answer in itself.

“I will call back and inform Bernhard,” she therefore said and, allowing a moment of silence to go by, she turned back towards the atrium, this time signaling Adrien to join her.

“On a more important note, Sir,” she then announced, hands closing over Adrien’s shoulders. “Your son is here. He wishes to speak with you.”

Gabriel’s shoulders visibly tensed. Standing at her side, attention moving between her and his father, Adrien seemed to notice it too. He hesitated _._ He hesitated for an incredibly long moment. And then gave this weird jump, a gasp going passed his lips.

“I am leaving for Marinette’s party!” he exclaimed, massaging his chest in the exasperated fashion of someone who had just been pinched. “I _—_ ”

He hesitated. Again. And in a second, he had _jumped_. Again.

“I made Marinette a gift!” Adrien now blurted out, right hand snapping shut over the same pocket he had been holding some minutes earlier and _really_ , Nathalie would have gone ahead and asked what on earth was going on if Adrien wasn’t rummaging through his shirt inner pocket now, a pink box being taken out. “Do you want to see it?”

They both stood there. Next to her desk. Waiting. But there wasn’t a word, a movement, not anything to say Gabriel was even paying attention, much less interested, and, for a moment, Nathalie feared, she truly _feared_ , Adrien might leave. She feared it even more when she felt him slip from her fingers. But that wasn’t what he meant to do. Instead, Adrien stepped forward, making it all the way across the atelier to stand at his father’s side. Then, he opened the box and showed him the gift.

It got little but a glance.

“What is it?”

“A lucky charm.”

It was the worse thing Adrien could have said. Gabriel’s shoulders stiffened. His entire body did. And, next to her desk, Nathalie closed her eyes, returning to the pair on the other side of the atelier to find Adrien staring at his gift.

“Is it _that_ bad?” he whispered, going back to Gabriel, apprehension spilling right into his words. “Do you think it’s weird? It’s not horrible, is it?”

He was heading towards an explosion. Judging by the way Gabriel raised his eyes to the painting, to Emilie, what Nathalie could only conclude was a very accusatory look being thrown her way, he was already halfway down that path and Adrien was not giving an inch. He stood there arms crossed and sounding outraged.

“I’m not being _dramatic!”_

“What is this about then?!” Gabriel snapped.

“Do you like it?”

Nathalie stood straighter. It looked _—_ It looked like Adrien had just doused Gabriel with cold water. He turned. The way the grayish eyes run up and down Adrien’s face seeming to imply he was just now becoming aware of what _“Your son is here”_ meant. And the moment he did _see_ Adrien, it receded. The blue fire in his eyes. It receded until Hawkmoth was but a shadow and Nathalie stepped back to the atrium, not noticing that split second when Gabriel looked her way, never looking back until the door clicked behind her and she leaned her forehead against it, a plea in her mind.

_Please, let this work._

#### Adrien

“You _made_ this?” Father was querying, fingers reaching out to take the amulet from inside its box, eyebrows raised in an arch. “Alone?”

Still standing next to the golden painting, attention moving from the amulet to Father, Adrien changed his weight from one foot to the other, right hand running through his hair.

“Yeah, I… That is the right way of doing it, isn’t it?” he asked, uncertain. “It was what Marinette did. What you did with your gift on my _—_ ” He stopped himself from saying ‘anniversary’ right on time. “What do you think?”

“It’s _—_ ”

Father seemed to be at a complete loss for words right now. In fact, he was hanging the amulet from his fingers, watching the asymmetric stones spin, and frowning in such a way Adrien had to sigh. Well, he knew what that meant.

“It _**is**_ horrible, isn’t it?” he concluded all the while watching Father go over the strap that kept the amulet from falling apart. He had no idea how that was even possible but Father’s frown actually _deepened._ And to make matters worse he was marching straight for the atelier’s console, fingers flying over the display.

Adrien shook his head. Crestfallen.

“Should I get her something else?” he asked Father’s back. “I still have time.”

Stepping down from the console, making his way to a niche that was opening right in the center of the atelier’s inner wall, Father simply rolled his eyes.

“You are not getting her _something else_ ,” he snapped. “And it is _**not**_ horrible. It’s pink.”

Father stopped near the niche as he said that, fingers tapping on the adorned arm of an antique sewing machine Adrien hadn’t seen in years, attention roaming over the many small drawers the rolling panel had revealed. It didn’t take long, however, for Father to give up on trying to remember where he kept what and start to search, a glance going to where Adrien stood.

“I had never noticed you had any sympathy for pink,” he commented in a softer tone and while opening the first of the drawers, fingers rummaging through its contents. “Or any reds for that matter. Navy, greens, white. I was lead to believe those were your preferences. Not that it is in any way surprising. Your mother _—_ ”

Adrien was rushing across the atelier that same moment. The words having turned into a sharp intake of breath sending him marching by the center desk, the many designs that were over it barely registering in his mind as he stopped next to the niche. He had meant to grab Father’s shoulder _—_ his hand was halfway there already _—_ but he never got to do it. The instant Father saw he was here, the moment he understood _why_ , he clenched his teeth and soldiered on.

“ _Your mother_ ,” he forced himself through. “Also suffered from a strong aversion to anything that didn’t come from those palettes. Red, black, purple… One might think they had given offense.”

Father closed his eyes at that, forcing himself to breathe _—_ and barely giving himself any time to before continuing.

“That is not to say a simple suggestion means I am unable to understand _preferences_ ,” he put forth, now sounding annoyed. “I know quite well there are such things as complexion. Personality. Temperament _—_ ” He had gone back to opening and closing drawers in tandem with each word and now he stopped, fingers still holding one of the knobs, a sigh bringing a melancholic undertone to his otherwise passionate speech.

“Still, it was a shame. It is rather limiting not being allowed to work a full palette. Or less than a third of it. And far as experimentation goes _—_ ”

Father turned, the toolbox he had just pulled from inside one of the bigger drawers in hand, his attention falling directly on Adrien. It stopped him right in his tracks. As it did his words. The silence taking over the atelier when Father shook his head and walked passed him, leaving Adrien to open his mouth.

 _You were not annoying me,_ he wanted to say, but Father wouldn’t believe even if he had, so Adrien just followed him, going to stand next to Nathalie’s desk, watching the toolbox and this small metal piece that looked a lot like the end of a necklace being put over it, then frowning at how strained Father’s movements became when he took upon himself to carefully pull out the end of the amulet.

“Is your hand better?”

Adrien knew it wasn’t just by glancing at it.

“Are you not getting that looked _—_?”

“Pink.”

Adrien stood straighter, crossing his arms, this belligerent expression that would have looked a lot more natural in the face at his side taking over his features only to be replaced by resignation a second later. His arms fell back to his side. He wouldn’t win this. And, really, he didn’t want to start an argument right now.

“Pink is Marinette’s favorite color,” Adrien explained, watching Father put the piece that had closed the amulet over the table and raise the amulet itself to the light. The pink stones shone as he did so. And for some reason, doubt suddenly crept its way into Adrien’s mind.

“At least, I think it is her favorite color?” he trailed off, eyes widening and going to count through his fingers. “I mean, it is in her school bag and her purse and pencil case and this magic box she keeps her diary in _—_ ”

Father snapped his head his way, eyebrows knitted.

“A magic box?”

“Yeah, it snaps shut if someone tries to steal the diary,” Adrien explained, seeing the grayish blue eyes flee from him just as he tried to meet them. “It is really cool actually. Marinette built it herself.”

Father reached inside the toolbox, pulling out a side cutter.

“And you know this _—_ ”

“Sabrina once ended up with her hand locked inside it for most of the day.”

There was a slight tilt to Father’s head now, a harsh curl to his lips. Using the side cutter to trim the edge of the amulet, small bits of thread falling over the desk, Father looked _—_ and worse sounded _—_ utterly unimpressed.

“I didn’t believe that young lady so silly she would take her diary to school,” he said.

Adrien let escape this long exhale.

“She didn’t do anything of the sort,” he replied, watching Father going back to search for something inside the toolbox. “There was this class representative thing going on. Kind of an election. She decided to run against Chloe.”

“How courageous.”

“My classmates seemed to think that it was,” Adrien told him, the sound of tools being shuffled against each other raising alongside his words. “It wasn’t as if anyone else stepped forward other than her. They were really excited that she did.”

“And the excitement lasted _—_ ” Father stopped, studying the pliers he had just taken out of the box. From where Adrien was standing he could almost hear the words "Pause for effect" going through Father's mind before he continued. “Five, ten minutes?”

Adrien massaged the back of his neck.

“Well _—_ ”

Father glanced at him, frowning, pliers in hand.

“It took longer?”

Adrien almost choked while trying to suppress a snort. That, for the record, hadn’t been a joke. No matter if it kind of sounded like one. Father was serious. As always. If Adrien started laughing right now the only thing he would get was a very bewildered look.

“It lasted until recess,” he finally managed to clarify, a trace of laughter in his voice. “Chloe went around trying to buy votes _and_ to get dirt on Marinette. That was how Sabrina ended diary hunting in her bedroom. I have no idea how she got in there, but when she returned she had this polka-dotted box closed around her hand. Nobody could take it off. Actually, I think Sabrina would still have her hand in there if Marinette could have her way _—_ _Father?_ ”

He blinked the same instant Adrien called out to him, the burning fire that had taken over his eyes, this curl to his lips that seemed just short of turning into a full-sized grin, fading into nothing as Father went to rub his chin, frowned, and left Adrien to stare at him.

“What are you _thinking_?” he queried, curious.

His answer was a head shake. A head shake and having his attention called back to the amulet Father had on his hands, one he was raising Adrien’s way, alongside the pliers he had just taken from the box. If Adrien had, just for a moment, gotten the impression Father had goaded him into telling him about Marinette’s diary box, that impression crashed and burned right at that moment. He had both the pliers and the amulet on his hands now. He was looking between them and Father.

“Close the crimp bead,” he instructed and Adrien wasn’t sure he wanted to know how lost he looked to get that big an eye roll. “ _The metal piece._ ”

“Right.”

He returned the amulet after finishing, attention going over the bruise on Father’s wrist when he stopped to frown at Adrien’s work. It looked–Actually, now that he got a good look at the wrist, Adrien had to grimace. It looked a lot worse than a week ago. It was black. Swollen. And Adrien had just opened his mouth to comment on it when he was expertly cut off.

“Your idea?” Father asked, back to work on the amulet and leaving Adrien to press his lips. As much as he wanted to speak what was on his mind, however, there was really not much to do other than follow Father’s lead.

“Marinette’s,” Adrien informed, his heart giving this sudden excited jump. “Wait!”

It was a bit of struggle to take Marinette’s gift from where he usually kept it and, come to think of it _—_ and at this Adrien had to seriously cringe _—_ it was probably nothing short of a _miracle_ he wasn’t made the latest victim of Father’s three hour-long lecture on “The Aesthetics of Trouser’s Back Pockets and How They are not Meant to Carry **ANYTHING** .” He didn’t think he could survive another instance of that. Not without Nathalie picking her notebook and pen and starting to take notes on what Father was saying. That had left Adrien in stitches the first time it had happened. More so for Father’s double take at the breakfast table upon finding his own article on _Gabriel_ ’s monthly publication.

“Either I hit the jackpot with hiring that girl,” he had muttered, skidding through the paragraphs, actually looking quite impressed. “Or I will come to deeply regret it.”

He obviously hadn’t. Nathalie was still here. Four years on. And sometimes it felt to Adrien she was the only thing in his life that remained constant over that period. After all, Mom was gone and Father _—_ Father was taking the amulet Marinette had made from Adrien’s fingers and studying it behind lifeless eyes.

“Blueberry,” he commented going over the amulet’s end. It seemed to get his seal of approval for he returned the amulet to Adrien, attention back to his present work. What he had meant by saying ‘Blueberry’, however, didn’t get pass Adrien.

“That’s my favorite color,” he clarified, watching the pliers and side cutter being tossed back inside the box. “But you know that. It is the same color as your gift.”

There was something strange to Father’s expression all of sudden. In the way he had just glanced his way. But before Adrien could pinpoint what it was, Father had closed the toolbox, picked it up and returned the pink amulet to Adrien’s hands without a word. There was little Adrien could do but march behind him as he made his way along the table and back to the open niche.

“So it’s not horrible?” Adrien asked again, just to be sure, attention going from the amulet to Father’s back. There was a hint of apprehension to his next question. “Do you think she will like it?”

He was back at Father’s side now. Watching as he put the toolbox back next to the sewing machine, fingers lingering over its handle for a moment.

“It would be rather silly not to,” came the quiet reply. “It’s _—_ ”

Adrien would never know what Father actually thought. The quiet of the atelier had been shattered. There were voices. Shouting. The clicking of cameras. And right when Adrien turned to the windows to see what on earth was going on, Father’s hands closed over his shoulders, pulling him back, the door to their left opening right at that instant giving Adrien the distinct impression Father would have pulled him behind him if the person stepping inside had been anyone other than Nathalie.

“You will be late,” she told Adrien and the way she said that sounded like an apology. To whom, however, Adrien was not sure. “Your bodyguard is waiting outside.”

“Thanks!” Adrien beamed and he would have jumped back to action right then, he would have been in the car and out the front gate without a second thought and maybe he would never have looked back. The thing was Father still had his hands locked over his shoulders. He hadn’t moved an inch. And so Adrien did look back to see him staring at the windows. Towards the press standing on the other side of the iron gates. His expression so dark Adrien was overwhelmed by guilt.

_Oh no._

_No no no._

Not _this_.

“Father?”

The calling reached him. Somehow. Even if it took forever. Even if it took even longer for Father to struggle himself into releasing him, for him to step awayand for the Miraculous in Adrien's finger to decide this was the perfect moment to come back to life and tell him just how right Ladybug had been about what it had been trying to tell him all throughout the week. This horrible sensation of dread, of foreboding, washing over his mind, forcing Adrien to bit his lip to be able to keep his focus here, in the atelier and with Father.

“Go to that party of yours," Father was now saying as he stopped near the windows, hands locked behind his back, and maybe it was the Miraculous going insane, but the way the bright morning light washed over Father's beige suit gave Adrien this horrible sensation _—that_ _he was fading_.

“You will be here when I come back, _right?”_  he found himself asking, words suddenly forceful. "You will be _here_."

“I’m always here.”

Adrien bit his lip. Did he _—_ Did he actually _believe_ that?

“Then, can we do this again?” Adrien asked, taking a step forward, towards the windows, towards Father, trying to ignore the Miraculous biting desperately into his finger if just for a moment longer. “I like talking with you.”

Father didn’t budge. He remained as he was. Immobile. Furious. And staring down the press.

“Schedule it with Nathalie.”

Adrien wouldn’t pretend that didn’t hurt. It hurt no matter how many times he was dismissed like that. This time, however, he barely had time to drop his head, to stare at the black and white floor, to wonder what he should do, before the glaring difference between all other moments he had been told to ‘Schedule it with Nathalie’ and the present one, stepped forward. Efficient. Professional. Tablet in hand.

“Your schedule is open for tomorrow, Sir,” Nathalie informed and Adrien blinked, watching as she frowned at the display, her index finger moving what must be both his and Father’s schedules up and down.

Adrien had completely forgotten she was here.

He couldn’t be more grateful that she was.

“As for Adrien’s _—_ ” Nathalie continued. “School will run late tomorrow but there is still some time once he gets home. Furthermore _—_ ” She returned the tablet to her side, going on to face Father’s back. Inflexible. “I will like to remind you about the dinner Mlle. Selene interrupted. If I remember correctly, you wished to reschedule it.”

Adrien was stunned beyond all words. His chin hanging limp before this thought he must be looking like a fish crossed his mind and he snapped his mouth shut, attention going from Nathalie to Father and back to Nathalie. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to hug so much he didn’t care if Father went forward and said no. And he couldn’t believe that while he was thinking that, Nathalie could turn his way and misinterpret his expression as much as she did.

“If it is fine by you,” she offered, searching his face, sounding uncertain. “It would be after your fencing class.”

Adrien didn’t get a chance to answer. Father had turned that exact same instant, a penetrating gaze falling on both of them.

“Now there is fencing on _Mondays_?”

It was the strangest thing. The moment Father turned, the moment he was back with them, frowning and impatient and with that dark expression falling away from his eyes, the Miraculous fell _silent_. It rested on Adrien’s finger just as if nothing had happened. Like everything was fine.

“One of my colleagues changed schools,” Adrien stammered, bewildered, and trying not to look at the ring. “M. D’Agencourt wants to have a strong team for the tournament so we are holding tryouts. He is hoping someone will appear.”

Father gave out a scoff. It sounded a lot like 'hoping'. It sounded exactly like 'hoping'. But Adrien didn’t have time to dwell on how weird that reaction was. Nathalie was frowning at him, still waiting for her answer and it wasn’t until Adrien started nodding with such conviction his head seemed to have been momentarily stuck on a shaker that she went back to Father, locking her eyes with his.

“Afterwards, Sir?” she queried.

Adrien was back to him too. Pleading. He didn’t dare to hope, but _—_

Father let out this long exhale.

“If it is feasible,” he gave in.

It felt unreal. It felt so unreal Adrien had his head looming over Nathalie’s tablet just to be sure of what she was tipping. Just to be sure this was actually happening. That Father had said yes. He had said yes!

“You are still late, Adrien,” Nathalie reminded him.

“Right!”

Adrien had just stepped through the threshold, the atrium opening in front of him when he stopped. His attention going back to the atelier and to Father.

“Fingers crossed Hawkmoth won’t do anything during the party?”

Father had gone back to glare at the press. Still, Adrien waited. Hand raised and with his fingers crossed. He waited until Father mimicked his gesture.

“Fingers crossed.”

Adrien smiled and stepped outside, closing the door behind him before looking between it and the his Miraculous, confused, worried, his bodyguard’s head appearing at the door some moments later sending him marching for the car. He would be crossing Place des Vosges, the garden near Marinette’s house, alone, when he finally risked letting Plagg out of his shirt.

“Please, tell me that was you.”

His query was met by a very innocent looking kwami.

“Me _what_?”

Adrien crossed his arms. He wasn’t talking about Plagg _pinching_ him, but he wouldn’t have a chance to go ahead and tell him that. Alya and Nino had just turned the corner and Sabine Dupain-Cheng was marching passed all three of them, broom in hand. Adrien would still see her stop menacingly in front of a section of trees before his bodyguard appeared and his mind completely veered away from whatever was happening. As long as it wasn’t Hawkmoth, he was rather sure G. could handle it. And so, Adrien joined his classmates and waited until Marinette arrived, followed suit by her very own, very akumatized grandmother and a mess that would push the party well into the night.

When Adrien arrived home, finding Nathalie waiting for him at the entrance, the book she was reading telling him she had long retired _—_ even if the light glaring from under the atelier’s door told Father had not _—_ that sensation of impending disaster he had felt in the morning, the way it seemed to be related with Father, would be but a side note in his mind. One once again pulled to the side by him having to jump out of his bedroom window not that much time later.

By morning, crashing into bed alongside Plagg, exhausted enough that he didn’t even notice Father had never made his way upstairs last night _—_ and much less Nathalie when she actually did and ended making her way back down seconds later, alone and shaking her head _—_ Adrien would have forgotten it altogether. 

#### Nathalie

One of the butterflies was making its way back, the column of light diving inside the Observatory guiding it on its way down, slowly, gently, wings glowing in the pale morning light.

“I didn’t see you arrive,” Hawkmoth said, raising one hand to the light, how impossibly white the butterfly was all the more obvious now that it rested on his gloved fingers. “You are early _—_ _Nathalie._ ”

Waiting by the Observatory’s lift, at first uncertain if those words were meant for her or the arriving butterfly, Nathalie straightened, that last declaration, the exasperated way in which Gabriel seemed to became aware of how ambiguous his words were, making her smile.

“I could say the same,” she told him, concern replacing what little of her smile still remained when Gabriel turned away from the window and she got a glimpse of the features hidden by the silver mask. “Have you slept the passed few days?”

“As little or as much as I saw fitted.”

Nathalie’s eyebrows drew closer.

“ _Which_ of the two?”

The question was waved away, the torn expression Gabriel had been supporting long before he noticed she was here returning to his face, his lips parted _—_ only for a derisive smile to take the place of his words. Nathalie had seen Gabriel disappear far too many times behind this same expression to hold her silence now.

“You were going to say something,” she pointed out, watching the butterfly take flight from his fingers and join the rest of its companions flying overhead. Hawkmoth’s cold smile, when she returned to him, had given way this pained gaze. She could see his lips parting, but _—_

“Sir?”

He had turned his back on her, the rooftops around the house and the more distant structure of _Le Tour Eiffel_ falling again under his gaze.

“I was going to ask if you could sense _that,_ ” Gabriel informed, gesturing at something outside. “But it is about as pointless a question as the answer you would be forced to give.”

Eyes having followed his gesture, Nathalie returned to him, squinting in suspicion, brow furrowed.

“And the _that_ you mention, is _—_?” she even so chose to say and she could see Gabriel close his eyes through the reflection, then, clench his teeth, determined, cane twirling so it would rest on his shoulder.

“ _That_ is what I wonder,” he mused, starting to tap the cane against his shoulder. “I have been sensing this for weeks. I know what _it_ feels. At night. Alone and overthinking. Asking itself if it will ever find a place. But what it is _—_ ”

Gabriel fell silent, her next question making his eyes dart to her reflection.

“You can’t transform it?”

“It is not a question if I can, as much as if I should,” he told her, eyebrows knitting together. “Animals, people, the ones I have transformed in particular, I can tell those apart. However this, it thinks, it feels… _differently_.”

Nathalie tilted her head, a note of curiosity reaching her voice.

“You don’t think it’s _human_?”

“And yet what else could it be? _A machine?_ ” Gabriel scoffed at his own hypothesis, turning back to her, the light coming from the round window falling around him. “This thing has _potential_. A push in the right direction and it will fall right into my hands. It might be the key to all of this. It might be the way to finally fix _everything_ and _yet—_ ”

The butterflies seemed to have stopped over them, hanging on every word, watching Gabriel’s expression twist with fury.

“I almost used it _yesterday_ ,” he snapped and Nathalie took a step forward, her heels echoing softly on the dome around them, her expression one of visible concern. “If Adrien and you hadn’t been insisting on scheduling that dinner, I would have done it and I wouldn’t have cared what happened to me. I wouldn’t have regretted it. I wouldn’t regret any of _—_!”

Nathalie had closed her hand over Gabriel’s arm, the abrupt end to the rant leaving them with their eyes locked.

“This isn’t about the Miraculous, is it?” she observed, squeezing his arm tighter when she felt him shiver in answer. “This isn’t what you wanted to say.”

Gabriel’s lips curled.

“I have sometimes wished you weren’t _that_ perceptive,” he snapped.

“Have you?”

The grayish blue eyes never left hers, they didn’t even as their belligerent expression fell apart, something that might have been regret taking its place.

“No,” he told her honestly. “Not once.”

The shutters slid to cover the window at those words, the fading transformation leaving only Gabriel here with her, attention following the butterflies as they landed around them, eyes closing for a second.

“The press was there yesterday,” he finally found it in himself to say. “At Place des Vosges.”

Nathalie was left staring.

“They followed _Adrien_ to the _party_?” she stammered. “I was under the impression _—_ ”

“That they would leave a child alone?” Gabriel finished for her, back to gazing at the butterflies now resting around their feet. “To frequent public parks is hardly illegal. They are not interacting with him, not touching their cameras _—_ ” He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Apparently, my earlier refusal on granting an interview has them convinced the best way to secure one is to shadow my son and wait for me to appear.”

Nathalie’s hand closed tighter over his arm.

“How do you know _this_?” she asked, only for a shadow of suspicion to go over her face, her attention slipping towards the butterflies. As obvious as what she was thinking undoubtedly was, she hadn’t expected Gabriel to shoot it down right away.

“That wasn’t the butterflies,” he said. “That young lady’s mother and that bodyguard of Adrien’s were weeding out a pair of photographers from behind the bushes all through the night. They made the mistake of asking them when I was to pick him up.”

Nathalie pressed her lips.

“Mdm. Dupain-Cheng called,” she easily concluded, taking her phone from her jacket, a glance at the display ending with Gabriel shaking his head.

“It was well passed your work hours. It wouldn’t have gone to you.”

“May I ask what was that she said?” Nathalie queried, returning the phone to her pocket. “I assume she was worried about her _—_ ”

It came in a sudden flash, the memory of a woman with peaceful brown eyes leaning next to the car’s passenger window. Nathalie closed her eyes. A pang of guilt tugging at her heart.

“She was worried about Adrien,” she whispered.

“She was worried,” Gabriel concurred, his voice dropping lower and lower. “Asking if I wished he stayed there for the night. Giving assurances he would be safe _—_ _Safe.”_

He closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“There was only ever one thing I was any good at,” he said, his voice so low it was barely there. “Whatever happened, I could always keep him safe. Now _—_ ”

Gabriel looked around, towards the white butterflies and the window, towards the cold metal walls, fingers closing around the Miraculous, eyes so hate-filled it was clear he meant to rip it out _—_

If only he had.

The moment passed. The fire died out. And rejoining Gabriel on the sunny atelier just seconds later, there was nothing Nathalie could do other than quench the remaining flames.

“I doubt Mdm. Dupain-Cheng meant her offer as a slight against you,” she put forth, eyes following Gabriel as he picked one of his designs he had been clearly working on during the night, the sorrow her expression was so reluctant to show clear on that of the small kwami she failed to notice peeking from the shelves to her left. “She hardly seems the type.”

A glance her way and Gabriel raised the sketch to the light.

“Your justification?”

“Her daughter.”

Her answer came in the form of a snort. Putting the sketch back on the desk, Gabriel picked up his usual white and red scarf from where he had left it on the work area.

“Adrien’s little _admirer_ , you mean,” he said, putting it on, cruel amusement giving way to something sharper. “She has a diary, you know. Locked away inside this ‘magic box’ she made.”

Nathalie raised her eyebrows.

“A magic box?”

“That was what Adrien called it,” Gabriel told her, making sure the Miraculous was out of sight before continuing. “Quite the devilish little contraption. A trap of sorts. I wonder _—_ ”

The beige jacket slid off his shoulders, being dropped onto the U-shaped sofa running around the desk. Whatever Gabriel might be thinking, however, whatever he meant to say, was cut short by him reaching to unbutton his sleeves and stopping, frowning at his injured wrist, clearly trying to see a way to bypass it.

Nathalie had sighed, gone down the small flight of stairs and stopped at his side before he reached the obvious solution.

“If I may.”

She allowed herself a grimace upon taking his hand in hers. The question of how much worse he intended this to get crossing her mind before she shook her head. Having that discussion, _again_ , would get them nowhere.

“You wonder?” Nathalie therefore queried, fingers going over the small buttons. “About the diary?”

She ended up raising her attention at Gabriel’s silence, eyes meeting the grayish blue ones studying her, their mute question making her drop her eyes.

“I fear I am about to disappoint you,” Nathalie said, back to the sleeve. “Fifteen-year-old-Nathalie is of no help to you for starters. She never had a diary.”

“Never?”

“No. She _—_ ” Nathalie hesitated, fingers hovering over the small buttons for a moment, then returning to work. “She preferred to keep her heart with the only person it was safe with.”

“Who was that?”

Her chest tightened, the quiet curiosity to Gabriel’s tone making her fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him, holding on to this man who hadn’t been with her back then _—_ whom she hadn’t even known existed. Her voice, when she finally found it, was little more than a whisper.

“Myself.”

They didn’t talk for a long while after that. Gabriel’s index finger tapping on the red fabric of his trousers as she busied herself with his other sleeve, unbuttoning it, rolling it up. It wasn't until the feeling of warm fingers touching her chin, nudging it up, finally brought her back to the present that Nathalie looked up.

“You haven’t changed much,” Gabriel commented and the quiet gentleness to his words made her smile, albeit sadly, gaze resting on his.

“I have,” she heard herself say, fingers lingering on his hand one last moment, before she let him go. “I changed a lot.”

Her attention dropped to the floor, left hand closing over nothing as she made her away back to the atelier’s upper level, gathering herself and turning to face Gabriel. Her expression vacant. All emotion gone.

“Still, if I understand your intentions correctly,” she told him, starting to make her way to her desk. “I must inform you that in getting your hands in this diary, it is very probable that the only information you will gain is a whole lot of nonsense about boys.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows jumped up.

“ _Boys?_ ”

“Possibly one in particular,” Nathalie told him, picking up the small pile of papers over her desk and turning to find Gabriel pressing the bridge of his nose. “Is there a problem?”

Gabriel dropped his hand that same instant. Fuming.

“W _hy_ would she have her reveries about _**boys**_ locked away in a high security puzzle box?!”

“It’s important at that age,” Nathalie simply stated, only to have this _look_ thrown her way while she confirmed Gabriel’s signature on the papers.

“You know what this is about,” he said.

“I do,” she confirmed, dropping the papers on the scanner lying next to the wall, her expression hard when she looked back to him. “You suspect she might have written about being Ladybug on it.”

Gabriel had his arms cross now.

“ _And?_ ”

“It is possible, of course,” Nathalie answered, pensive, and all the while double-clicking one of the icons on her computer desktop. “I assume having a makeshift safe would give her a sense of security.”

“But,” Gabriel pushed through.

“But _—_ ”

The scanner jumped to live just in time for her rebuttal.

“It is my opinion,” Nathalie said. “That it would be unwise, not to say dangerous, to have something telling of her feats as Ladybug lying around. Worse yet to write them down.”

“She is young,” Gabriel offered.

“That doesn’t have to make her silly _or_ rash,” Nathalie replied, offering half an eye to the scanned documents that were popping on the screen. “The Ladybug you describe to me is neither of those things.”

Gabriel frowned, pensive, gaze slipping away to the painting at the other end of the atelier and the woman pictured there. His silence left Nathalie to step back, allowing him his time, alone, until he found it in himself to come back.

“You worry I will be disappointed by this diary,” Gabriel finally stated, finding her sitting at her desk, typing. “I almost wish that I am. I would much rather have that girl daydreaming about some crush than standing in my path.”

Nathalie’s fingers failed to hit the keys in any way that made sense. She was staring at Gabriel now, eyes wide with surprise, a small smile finding its way to her lips.

“You do like her,” she whispered, softly, hopefully, voice going back to its usual professional tone when Gabriel frowned at her. “And I assume we will get her diary either way.”

“If we can concoct some way of doing that,” he agreed, a grin taking over his expression. “She borrowed something of mine. It is only right I return the favor.”

Nathalie shook her head, going back to writing the e-mail. She would like to say this surprised her, but there was very little that still did.

“Was that the reason for your attempt during the party?” she queried, hitting send and stepping towards the trolley to grab one of the archives waiting on it. “Marinette’s diary?”

Gabriel’s grin faded, an alarmed expression taking its place.

“ _How?!_ ”

The answer seemed to run him down the same instant.

“ _Adrien!”_ he exclaimed. “I wondered why you were reading in the atrium. I assume he told you the essential, it saves me having to share it.”

Nathalie raised her eyebrows, archive on her hands.

“Did you intend to?”

“No,” Gabriel admitted and the word hanged between them, its brusque honesty somehow managing to be at the same time better and worse than if he had just simply stood there and lied.

“Yet, for what it’s worth,” Gabriel continued. “I didn’t know whose grandmother that woman was or that she would make a beeline for that party the instant I transformed her. Still, _y_ _es_. Getting that diary was exactly my intention.” His tone became aggravated. “It goes without saying I wasn't successful.”

“The butterflies couldn’t find this box?”

“No. And I couldn’t risk someone going back to the house and finding them in that girl’s room,” Gabriel hissed. “If she is Ladybug there is only one thing connecting that sort of intrusion and Hawkmoth and Emilie's  _grimoire_  would lead her straight back to me. And even if she isn’t that bug _—_ ”

Gabriel didn’t get to finish. The same moment the words left his lips they turned into a sharp intake of breath and Gabriel was on the move up the stairs, his fingers already over the painting combination when he stopped and looked back. Panting. Snarling. Eyes on the press beyond the gates.

“ _Those blasted vultures!_ ” he snapped, right hand clawed around the white and red scarf, the shudders running down his body becoming as clear as day now that Nathalie had made her way back to his side. “What must I do for them to understand they are not _—_?!”

 _Welcomed_ , didn’t make it passed his lips either. The phone beeping inside Nathalie’s jacket pocket, her fingers immediately diving to pick it up, leaving Gabriel to press his eyes.

“Who is it?”

“Adrien.”

And she would ask him to speak in plain French if he wasn’t already. Her confusion as she read and reread the message such that Gabriel pressed his fingers to the top of the phone, making it lean in his direction. The display rotated. He went back to press his eyes almost the same moment.

“The Sous-Plastron is an underarm protector,” he informed her, fighting to get his voice back to its normal unreadable tone. “For fencing. The jacket has this seam _—_ ”

The phone pinged again. The sound leaving Gabriel to roll his eyes.

“Go put the fire out.”

“Of course.”

She would remind herself to thank Adrien later. For distracting Gabriel. For occupying his mind with something that wasn’t the Miraculous or the press. And for a whole lot more she couldn’t tell him. That in no way should he know. Still, the brunt of her cold professionalism allowed for little but a raised eyebrow when she marched upstairs and entered Adrien’s room, his absence leading her straight into his closet _—_ and what looked like the Somme.

“I would remind you that school starts in half an hour,” Nathalie pointed out, eyebrows raised in surprise, attention running over pile after pile of clothes before it reached the blond boy standing among the disaster. “Regardless of your wardrobe’s apparent _implosion_.”

Adrien jumped away from the drawers he was going over, shoving the large pile of t-shirts he had on his hands randomly back inside.

“I swear it wasn’t like this before!” he groaned, jumping over what appeared to be crumpled jeans and, for some reason, socks, to approach her. “It is never like this. I can’t find my _—_ It’s this white protection for my weapon arm. It looks like half a jacket. I swear I have searched for it _everywhere!_ ”

Nathalie would be fishing it from the pile of clean clothes to her left in less than ten seconds, and watching Adrien’s incredulous growl turn into a sprint when his alarm went off on the bedroom and he ran passed her, Sous-Plastron in hand.

“Your father will be waiting for you at seven,” Nathalie called after him, watching him shove the protection inside the sports bag he had over his bed and continue full on sprinting for the door. “Dinner is at eight.”

There was this huge smile on Adrien’s face as he looked back, right before disappearing out the door.

“I haven’t forgotten!”

Nathalie shook her head, moving to exit the bedroom and almost getting run over when Adrien jumped back inside.

“Thank you,” he said, stopping for a moment, one hand raised her way. “Fingers crossed we find some new people for the team?”

There was no way she could have kept herself from smiling.

“I’m keeping them crossed,” Nathalie said and this time Adrien did leave, stepping into the courtyard with his bodyguard and his fencing bag, looking happy beyond words.

If only Nathalie had known how this day would end. That in less than an a pair of hours, a girl whom Gabriel would call Riposte would be rampaging through the city with Adrien caught right in the middle of her fury. If only she had known what would happen, then maybe...

But Nathalie didn’t know. And watching Adrien until the car made its way out of the gates, disappearing beyond the walls, it wouldn’t be until much later that this moment would replay in her mind and Nathalie would understand that _this_ was when everything started going wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dices have now been rolled for the rest of the chapter! And I must thank you all so much for not having given up on it. Let's just say RL got in the way of writing big time and this part of the chapter put so much of a fight I become stuck in it for ages. So really, thank you so much for still being here.
> 
> But on to the good news! The chapter "The Painted Lady," where we are now, actually has four parts and the next two ones are mostly written ;) so we are on a sane publishing schedule for once and I will see you next time!
> 
> (And, of course, any comments will mean the world!)


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